


Shackles on my Wings

by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)



Series: Don't Let's Start Adjacent [12]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Shiro (Voltron) Has a Clone, Shiro (Voltron) Whump, Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Sick Character, Sick Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-14 03:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16031999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticReactions/pseuds/BossToaster
Summary: Shiro wakes up with a cold.  There's nothing unusual about that.  He'll get through it, just like he has ever other case of the sniffles he's had while in space.  There's plenty else to worry about, like how work with the coalition is ramping up, and the changes Ryou is going through.  He doesn't have time to stop for such minor illnesses.Except it keeps getting worse





	1. Chapter 1

Even through his eyelids, the light was too bright.

Shiro rolled onto his side and buried his face in his pillow.  That blocked out the worst of the glare, but it did nothing to help with the jabbing pain in the center of his forehead.  His stomach rolled, protesting even the slight movement.

Ah, hell.

Shiro groaned quietly, since there was no one around to hear it, and willed the discomfort to go away.  Waking up and feeling like crap was pretty common, but it didn't make it any more comfortable. It happened almost every time he finally crashed after a string of sleepless nights. 

The annoying part was that he  _ hadn't _ been up late lately.  At least, not for him. He'd fallen asleep around 1 AM castle time  and Shiro had managed not to have any nightmares last night. Five hours of sleep wasn't incredible, but it was a pretty good stretch.

Yet here he was, hiding in his pillow and trying to psychically will the lights off in his room.

Shiro finally took a deep breath and braced himself, then pushed himself up.  The blanket rolled off of him and pooled heavily at the small of the back. Immediately, Shiro shivered and fought the urge to curl back under his covers.  More sleep sounded incredible right now, and he swore the bed was trying to swallow him up and convince him to stay.

Instead, he opened his eyes.

The room was the same as every morning - still dark from the night cycle, but with a line of blue light around the walls that banished the worst of the shadows.  Normally, Shiro was thankful for those ever-present lights, since they helped when he woke disoriented. Today, he wished he could rip them off the walls and throw them into the hallway.

Shiro scrubbed over his face, then rubbed over his temples.  The action had never done anything to relieve a headache before, and today was no exception.  The spot right behind his eyes and over his forehead continued to throb dully.

Tension headache.

Nothing new about that.

Taking a moment, Shiro braced himself before pulling his legs out from under the covers.  The first touch of his feet against the metal floor made him shiver, but he ignored that as he forced himself upright.

There.  He was up, and it would be silly to go back to bed now.  Especially when he had so much to do. They had a mission today he needed to prepare for, more Coalition reports to look through and put on their star maps, strategy meetings with the Blade of Marmora and rebel forces to plan for, all of which were more important than lazing around in bed for another hour.

No matter how temptingly comfy his blankets and pillows looked.

Shiro set his jaw, then went about making his bed.  He smoothed the sheets and blankets back out, then set his pillows at the top, arranged so they were near perfectly symmetrical.  Once the bed was neat again, he'd have to make it again if he climbed back in and ruined his work. So might as well get ready for the day.

Next, Shiro grabbed his supplies, then walked out to the shared bathroom down the hall.  At this hour, no one else was in the bathroom. Mostly likely he was the first up. Hunk only woke this early when he had a particularly challenging breakfast in mind for the morning - unlikely, right before a mission.  Ryou used to get up at this time, but lately he'd been delaying later and later, catching a little extra sleep.

Which was good.  Shiro was glad one of them had that opportunity, and happy that Ryou was falling further into his own schedule.  After all, getting up early was Shiro's habit, drilled into him by years of military discipline, none of which Ryou had actually lived through.  Besides, as much as Ryou tried to help, he wasn't Black Paladin, and his workload was lighter. So he should get more sleep.

Shiro took a quick shower, letting the warm water fall over his head to try and soothe away the headache.  It didn't get rid of all of it, but by the time he stepped out, he at least felt more human. Then he spent a minute in the mirror, looking over himself for any red eyes or flushed cheeks.  

Nothing worse than usual.  Good.

Nodding to himself, Shiro combed his fingers through his bangs, helping them to dry properly, then brushed his teeth.  A quick check of his chin showed the first signs of stubble, but nothing bad yet. He could wait a day or two before he even had a shadow to get rid of.

Shiro's eyes traveled from his jaw down to his neck, then over his shoulders.  He tensed the muscles, then ran his fingers down, brushing against a scar at the base of his neck that just missed his jugular.  It was hard to tell, but he suspected whoever had sliced him had been going for his trachea, and nearly succeeded. Over his trapexius, there was a circular scar, with a matching one on the other side.  A stab wound that had gone all the way through.

As he traced, his hand shook.  Shiro paused, confused, then looked down at both his hands, palms up.

Both vibrated gently.  Shiro worked them, clenching and unclenching, until he realized it wasn't just his fingers.  A shiver ran through all of him, until every hair on his body stood up. 

Just a chill.  Probably from standing around, wet and nearly naked in the cold, empty bathroom while he stared at himself in the mirror.

Shiro rolled his eyes at himself, went for his armor.  Even with it on, he could feel the shiver in his gut, but it was much better that way.

Nothing to worry about.  Nothing that Shiro had  _ time _ to worry about.  He'd fuss over a headache and a little chill after the mission, assuming it didn’t go away.

Shiro took one last look at himself, this time without the scars visible.  The armor bulked him even further than his time in the arena had. His hair was still damp, but no longer dripping, and he looked put together and professional.

Perfect.

He nodded to his reflection, then turned on his heel and headed for the dining room.

Hunk must have gotten up sometime since Shiro had, because the room was filled with the smell of cooking.  There was a hint of something sweet, not unlike maple syrup, and the gentle sizzle of whatever Hunk had in his pan in the kitchen.

Normally, it was a delightful way to be greeted.

Right now, it made Shiro's stomach turn.

"Oh, hey," Hunk greeted.  He stuck his head out through the open door to the kitchen and waved.  "You mind giving me a hand setting the table? I think everyone else should be getting in pretty soon."

"You're more hopeful than I am.  I don't expect Lance for another forty-five minutes at best," Shiro replied, bone dry.  Despite that, he followed Hunk into the kitchen. The smell got stronger, and so did Shiro's nausea.

Hunk only grinned and shrugged.  "Yeah, well, the rest of us don't want to have to wait for Lance to eat, so better to make it now."  He rocked the pan in his hand, flipping whatever he was working on without looking. With his other hand, he used a spoon to keep stirring.  

True enough.  Shiro gathered up the plates and cups, holding most of them in his Galra hand.  "Whatever you're working on smells good. Is it something you've tried before?"

"Yeah, once or twice.  It's the one with that thick, salty-sweet sauce that Pidge really likes.  Kind of like potato pancakes? They're pretty quick and light, so good for a busy day."  Hunk glanced back again, then paused at Shiro's frown. "Don't like it?"

Realizing he'd been caught, Shiro swallowed against another roll of his stomach.  "No, no. Just thinking about the plan for today." This was among their first fully-planned, coordinated battles with the coalition.  If they could clear the Galra out of this area, then there were just a handful planets between them and fully eradicating the Galra from this portion of the universe.  If they could gain and hold an entire set of quadrants like this, it would prove they really could take the universe back from the Galra.

This was proof of concept, right here.

No pressure or anything.

Hunk pressed his lips together and nodded.  "Yeah. I'm trying not to think about it too much, you know?  Just another battle. Nothing that different from all the other times we've freed planets."

"It's not that different.  Just a little more strategically placed."  Shiro gave Hunk's shoulder a fond bump with his own as he passed back into the dining room.  "All we can do is our best. I'm not worried about our chances, just thinking ahead a bit."

Hunk made a face, just barely visible through the open doorway.  "That sounds like code for overthinking."

Surprised, Shiro barked out a laugh.  "That's exactly what it is." 

Just as he began setting the table, the door opened.  Ryou stepped through.

Or, he tried to.  Instead, his shoulder slammed into the door frame, hard enough to knock him back several steps.

"Ow," Ryou groaned, holding onto his right arm.  "Mother of  _ shit. _ "

Shiro watched, one brow up and a smirk curling at his lips.  "Ah, yes, the mighty Yellow Paladin. Scourge of the Galra. Defeated by a door.  Do you need me to hold your hand through this most terrible of challenges?"

Glaring at him, Ryou turned completely sideways, then carefully stepped through the door.  "Oh, shut up. It's not like you've never walked into stuff before."

"Not since I was about two.  Which is appropriate, considering it's your maturity level."  

"Oh, now who's being mature?"  Ryou stuck out his tongue as he continued to rub over his arm.  "Seriously, ow. You'd think I'd hit it at a full sprint."

Shiro finished up setting the table, then walked up to his brother.   Smacking his hand away, he put tips of his fingers right above Ryou's port, then pushed down gently.

"Ow!"  Ryou yanked himself away and covered the spot like Shiro had punched it rather than poked him.  "Gentle, jeez. That's not an area to play with."

But Shiro grabbed his arm again, frowning now.  "I barely touched you. It shouldn't hurt that badly.  You wouldn't have felt it at all if you were in your armor."

Ryou shrugged and looked over Shiro's head into the kitchen.  "Yeah, well, I'm not on the mission today, so no real need. I'll change if you guys end up needing backup, but I'm pretty useless in a space battle if I'm not in a lion."

That was true enough, though Shiro wasn't fond of his wording.  Ignoring that for now, he took hold of Ryou's short sleeve and pulled it up, so he could see the shoulder underneath.

Below were several layers of bruising, from old yellow-green to more recent purple blotches.

"Is this from training?" Shiro asked, his brow furrowed.  He didn't remember Ryou taking a hit here, much less several in a row over more than one day.  Then again, he hadn't been watching every second.

Ryou set his jaw, then shrugged his other shoulder.  "Probably."

It was a pretty pathetic lie, so Shiro frowned at him.  "What have you been up to?"

"Hey!"  Ryou yanked his arm back and smoothed his sleeve back out.  "Why do you assume it's my fault, huh? The most trouble I get up to is giving you shit.  And really, that's a service I do for the sake of the universe." He put his hand over the spot, rubbing gently again.  

Shiro crossed his arms and stared Ryou down, utterly unconvinced.  On another day he might let it go, but right now fussing over Ryou and getting to the bottom of these bruises sounded way better than stewing in his headache.

It only took a few seconds for Ryou to groan.  He pulled out a chair and slumped into it. "I walked into the door to my room a couple of nights again.  And before that I shoulder-checked that floating weight-rack in the training room."

"You got all those bruises from  _ stationary objects?" _

Ryou rested his head on the table and groaned.  "Yeah. You good, now? Satisfied I'm not, I dunno, sneaking off to get punched in the shoulder or something?"

Honestly, no.  Shiro wasn't good.  Because walking into doors that often and that hard wasn't normal for either of them.

Hunk stepped into the room, carrying a large serving bowl, piled high with what looked like a cross between rice and popcorn.  Already, his eyes were on Ryou, and his brow was furrowed. "Do things look blurrier to you?"

Picking his head up, Ryou frowned.  "I hit my shoulder, not my head."

"That's not what I mean."  Hunk stepped forward and squinted at Ryou's face.  Then he glanced at Shiro. "Is there a history of farsightedness in your family?"

Shiro's brows rose.  "Not that I remember.  My- Our grandfather wore glasses, but I think they because of age.  You think...?"

"I dunno.  But it'd explain why Ryou's walking into things, right?"  Hunk shoved his palm toward Ryou's face. "Does this look blurrier to you?"

Ryou twisted his head out of the way.  "Not really? I would have noticed that, right?  I work with tiny screws and wires all the time. So I should have seen it by now if I needed glasses."

"Do you have headaches a lot?"

Just the word reminded Shiro of his own headache, which throbbed at the new attention.  He resisted the urge to rub over his face. It wouldn't help. "I would assume we're both prone to those.  It would be hard to tell the difference."

Ryou snorted.  "Yeah, no kidding."  But under Hunk's earnest stare, he sighed.  "Nothing unusually. Tension headaches sometimes, but if I was getting weird ones, I'd tell you all right away.  Just in case." He tapped at the side of his temple.

Immediately, Hunk's eyes widened.  "Oh. Yeah. Guess you would. Sorry."

Ryou only shrugged, unconcerned.

"Well, how about we get you checked out with Coran, just in case."  Shiro sat down as well, watching Ryou carefully. "It's not a problem I have, but it might be a product of..."  He trailed off, trying to think of a polite way of putting it.

"Of Haggar's meddling?"  Ryou sighed and rubbed over his eyes. "Yeah, maybe.  I don't see what making me walk into doors does. But maybe my eyes were a little messed up.  Not like she didn't screw up my brain."

Shiro's stomach twisted, this time out of sympathy.  Rather than answer, Shiro scooted his chair closer until their shoulders brushed, Ryou's right to his left.

That seemed to be the right answer.  Ryou leaned back into him, some of the tension bleeding away.  "Coran would be good," he said, softer now. "I didn't think anything of it at the time, you know?  It was just being clumsy."

"Hey.  It's okay.  No matter what, we'll fix it.  If the Galaxy Garrison can fix Matt's eyesight, then the Castle of Lion can probably fix anything of yours in minutes."  Shiro put a hand on the small of his back, smoothing up and down.

Hunk nodded so hard that his headband waved behind him.  "Definitely. Or, if you don't want that, there's nothing wrong with a pair of glasses.  Pidge does just fine with hers, and we can adjust your helmet to be your prescription. No big deal."

"Just another way to be different, right?"  Ryou managed a smile. "Glasses wouldn't be too bad.  Something silver could look cool."

Despite that, his shoulders stayed slumped, and his gaze drifted back down to the table.

Normally, Ryou liked the differences between himself and Shiro.  But those were all ones he could control. His hair, his mannerisms, his attitude.  The taste issue was odd, but one he'd at least come to accept, if not celebrate like the others.  At least he seemed to enjoy joking about it.

It was still hard to learn that something else about him had been made wrong.  An accident of his cloning or the aging process.

Shiro just patted Ryou on the back, letting him process.  The physicality of comforting his brother helped him to ignore his own headache by giving him a better focus.

"After breakfast.  We'll have time before the mission."  Shiro held up his other hand when Ryou opened his mouth.  "Yes, you might not be in a lion, but you're still important to the team, and so is Coran.  So we should get it done before we might need you both."

Nodding, Ryou closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  "Yeah. We'll do that, then."

Hunk looked them both over and tilted his head at Shiro, an unspoken question in his eyes.  'Do you have this?'

Shiro smiled back, since nodding would disturb Ryou.  Yes, he'd take care of this one. No need for back-up from Hunk or Lance, much as he appreciated how eager they would be.

That earned him a nod in return, before Hunk went back into the kitchen to finish up.  While he was gone, Shiro leaned into Ryou's shoulder, and got an answering pressure in return.

Neither spoke, because nothing they could say would change anything.  Instead, Ryou soaked up Shiro's support, and Shiro let Ryou's friendly warmth help ward off the chill still stubbornly clouding his chest.

By the time anyone else arrived, Ryou was back to joking, and Shiro was able to smile and eat with everyone else.

They were both very good at hiding their fears and problems, after all.

***

"Ow."  Ryou winced and leaned away from the bright green light in his eyes.  "I guess blinding me is a way to cure farsightedness. Not how I would have picked, but hey."

Coran huffed at him as he clicked off the light.  "Oh, hush. Even your delicate human cones and rods will be fine with this light.  No need to make a fuss. Walking into doors, you said?"

Ryou scowled, then looked up at Shiro, as if daring him to laugh.

Honestly, Shiro didn't find the situation all that humorous anymore, but he pretended to be biting back snickers anyway.  Ryou dealt with things better when they were made into jokes, after all.

Eyes narrowed, Ryou nodded slowly.  "Yeah. Well, two doors and a weight set."  He pulled his sleeve up so Coran could see.

Nodding thoughtfully, Coran considered Ryou.  "All on that side?"

Ryou paused, thinking about it.  "Yeah, actually. Just on my right arm.  I hadn't noticed. So I guess it's just the one eye that might be messed up."

"You could get a monocle," Shiro offered. He rubbed over his own eyes, which continued to throb irritatingly.  The headache hadn't gotten any better since breakfast, but it also hadn't gotten worse. Shiro was going to take that as a win.  

"I could rock a monocle.  It'd be great for effect, too.  Every time we get dramatic news about the coalition or the Galra or a planet.  Just..." He made a circle with his fingers around his eye, then dramatically moved it forward and let it drop.  "Pop. Gasp!"

Coran shook his head at them both.  "I have no idea what a monocle would be, but I assure you that we could fix any eye problems you're having, Ryou.  Or we could get you an appropriate and functional set of eye wear. Perhaps something like Hunk's goggles? Are those fashionable on your planet?"

"Yes," Ryou said instantly.  "Extremely. The height of cool."

Shiro rolled his eyes but didn't correct him.

"Well, then we can certainly do that for you.  But let's see what the scan says." Coran scrolled through the data, then paused, frowning.  "Huh."

Glancing over at Shiro, Ryou swallowed hard.  "That's really not making me feel better, Coran.  You want to share with the class?"

But Coran just sat back further in his seat and steepled his fingers.  "In a moment. Actually, Shiro, would you mind me repeating the same test on you?"

Frankly, it would be kinder for Coran to just stab him in the eyes, rather than shine that light in his face.  But Shiro nodded and sat up straighter. "Of course."

Coran turned the device toward Shiro.  "Try not to close your eyes as much as possible.  It'll go faster if you just look." And with that, he turned it on.

Immediately, it was like needles in his brain.  Shiro squinted, but managed to resist the instinct to close his eyes.  His fingers curled around the armrests of his chair, and his stomach tried to fold in on itself.

Luckily, it only lasted a few seconds.  Then Coran turned it off and pulled it away.  "There. Not so bad at all, is it?"

"No," Shiro croaked out, blinking the spots out of his eyes.  He tightened his throat against a gag before anyone could notice.  What had before been a simple headache turned into what felt like an open, internal wound.

When Shiro finally picked his head up, no one was watching him, thank everything.  Ryou was stock still, watching Coran while he scrolled.

There was a long pause as Coran considered, smoothing over his mustache.

Finally, Ryou cracked.  "Well? Coran, please just say what's wrong.  You're killing me. Whatever's the matter can't be as bad as I'm thinking right now."

Coran started, then looked over them both.  "Oh, goodness. No, I don't believe you need any sort of correction.  Not yet, anyway. There's some minor deterioration. You said your grandfather needed glasses later in life?  Is that common in humans?"

Swallowing hard, Shiro leaned back and took a deep breath.  When Shiro didn't answer, Ryou glanced over and tilted his head, then nodded.  "Yes, very much so. Humans tend to wear our bodies out pretty thoroughly before we pass of old age."

"Ah."  Coran pressed his lips thin, like he felt that was incredibly strange, but he didn't say anything about the human condition.  "Then that seems to be normal. I'd expect you might want to start thinking about correction within ten or so pheobs. But that's not your problem now."

Ryou relaxed and let out a sigh of relief, but then picked up his head.  "Okay? Then what was with your reaction before?"

"Just a thought.  I wanted to be sure your eyes weren't different from Shiro's."  Coran pulled his chair forward, so he was right in front of Ryou.  "Would you do me a favor and hold out both your arms."

At first, Ryou raised his brows.  Then he slowly held his arms straight out in front of him.  "Like this?"

"Just so."

Coran reached forward and wrapped both his hands around Ryou's biceps, right below where his prosthetic started.

On the metal arm, his fingers weren’t close to touching.

On the natural arm, he got much closer, nearly able to brush the tips of his fingers together.

Nodding, Coran inclined his head.  "I believe this would be your problem.  You've lost some muscle mass, and likely weight, so your balance might be affected. "

Ryou's mouth fell open.  "So I'm, like, what, moving my arms more or something?"

"Could be a variety of reasons.  Overcompensating for a lack of weight you had grown used to, perhaps.  Your gait might be designed for a heavier weight than you have, so you move differently now.  Just enough that you aren't quite in the place you expect to be when you step, and then you hit something on accident."  Coran patted his right arm gently. "Nothing wrong with your sight at all."

Slowly, Ryou nodded.  He held his arms together, still blinking rapidly.

Now that Shiro was looking for it, the difference between the two arms was clear.  None of them had thought to look, and when they were on either side of him, the difference was subtle.  But they were definitely, visibly different.

"You do spend more time stationary than I do," Shiro said.  He leaned back in his chair and brushed his bangs back, giving him a chance to rub at his temple.  It still didn't help, but he couldn't help the gesture.

Ryou finally looked up from his arms.  "I guess so. So, that's all? Nothing else is wrong with me?  I'm just getting skinnier?"

Smiling, Coran leaned back in his chair.  "Nope, nothing else that I could find. It it'll make you more comfortable, I'm happy to do a full scan after the mission.  For now, we both have somewhere to be very soon."

"Right."  Ryou stood, dazed.  "Yeah, we should- mission.  That." He took a deep breath, then seemed to finally focus.  "I think that scan would be smart, but at least this is an answer.  I'll just try to watch myself more. Thank you, Coran. I appreciate the help."

Coran stood as well.  "Of course, my boy. You should feel comfortable coming to me for any worries or concerns.  Both of you." He eyed Shiro pointedly.

Shiro froze and his heart pounded in his throat.  Had Coran noticed?

No, probably not.  It was just a jab at Shiro's tendency to keep problems to himself rather than get help.

That thing he was currently doing, but that he had no plans to own up to.  It was just a headache. The strong ones always gave him an upset stomach. It'd go away in time, or else he'd sleep it off tonight.  This was far more important than a little discomfort.

"Ready to kick some Galra tail, brother dear?"  Ryou offered him the metal arm with a smile.

Shiro turned it and took the hand, grateful for the excuse.  "Always." He lifted to his feet with perhaps a touch more effort than usual

Coran turned, already starting for the bridge, but Ryou's brow furrowed together.  He looked Shiro up and down as his eyes started to narrow.

Pulling his hand away, Shiro followed Coran out.  He activated his helmet comms with a tap. "Alright, everyone, to your hangers.  Time to go."

There was a round of affirmatives, and Shiro set off toward Black's hangar at a jog.

By the end of the battle, Ryou would have forgotten all about this, and Shiro's headache would be gone.  He was sure of it.


	2. Chapter 2

Shiro had been wrong.  So, painfully, utterly wrong.

The mission had been simple.  Like Shiro had said to Hunk, it was nothing they hadn't done before.  The Mivinnow system had been filled with Galra, true, but most of the surrounding area was controlled by the rebels.  That meant no reinforcements from the rest of the Galra Empire, which made them sitting ducks. The Voltron Show had done its job, flipping most of the population from reluctantly complacent to the verge of rebellion.  Just the sight of the lions in the sky had been enough to rally them. Between fights on the ground and Voltron in the air, taking down the Galra bases had been tedious but well within their power.

For once, the tide really seemed to be turning in their favor.  Similar attacks by the Coalition and Blades had occurred at two other systems, freeing a string of planets all at once.  All that was left was a single ribbon of Galra controlled space, and then an entire third of the universe would be under Coalition control.

That was great.  That was wonderful.  Shiro should be thrilled.

Except Shiro felt worse.  Far worse.

Before, his headache had been an irritation.  Now, it was a full-on distraction, to the point he'd had to mute his comm to hide his groans.  More than once, Shiro had nearly missed his target because it had been so hard to focus his eyes.

Black rumbled in the back of his head, openly disapproving.  There was no outright objection, but each time Shiro winced from noise or his reaction was a touch slower than normal, he felt Black press closer.

What else was Shiro supposed to do, though?  This was, at best, a cold. He'd powered through far worse before.  

Despite his justifications, guilt bubbled up.  Shiro didn't have to be compromising the mission this way.  He shouldn't be, not when they had a system of switching lions in place.  The point of that was to cover when someone was sick or needed elsewhere. Right now, Keith could probably fly Black better.

The very idea made Shiro's stomach twist.  He'd spent so long sidelined by his own actions, but now he was reluctant to step aside at all.  He felt shaky and weak, the chill suffusing into his bones. Admitting it was a problem was the same as admitting he was too weak to deal with the sniffles.

He'd fought through far worse.

By the end of the battle, Shiro's whole body throbbed.  When he stood up from his chair, he had to catch himself on the arm rests to keep from falling down.

An image of his bedroom flashed over his eyes.

Groaning, Shiro waved his hand through the air, as though he could smack away the vision.  "Enough. I'm fine."

The picture flashed again, closer to the bed this time.  It was followed by a memory of sinking into the mattress, his head on the pillow as he exhaustion of the day caught up to him.

"Black!"  Shiro snarled, then flinched from his own tone.  At least it seemed to work, because the memory retreated.  "I'll go to bed early. But you chose me for a reason. I have to..."  He ground his teeth together, stopping himself before speaking further.

Which was useless.  It wasn't like Black couldn't see what he was thinking.

He had to prove he was worth it.  He had to prove Black’s original choice right.

The presence pulled away, more subdued than before.  There was a thoughtful element, tinged with something dark.  Something like guilt.

Shiro felt the emotion answered in his own gut.  He really had no business snapping at Black when he was the one out of line.  The lion was just concerned and trying to get him to take care of himself. 

Sighing, he patted the armrest like he might have one of the other paladins' shoulder.  "I- sorry."

Something huge and warm brushed against his mind, like a cat rubbing against his legs.

Then every monitor and light in the cockpit went dark.

The message was clear - out, now.  If he was going to keep working and not rest, he better not expect to do it in Black.

Sighing, Shiro nodded and obligingly let himself get pushed out of the lion.  He didn't need any lights to confidently navigate out toward the hatch. Black knew where everything was, and therefore so did Shiro.

Once he was out, the jaws shut firmly behind him, and Black's eyes went dim.

Even if the gesture wasn't directly unfriendly, it still made Shiro's hair stand on end.  It was a rejection, if a mild one. Shiro had been kicked out of the Black Lion, and he wasn't invited back today.

Another shiver ran through him, only adding to the icy churning of his stomach. 

Turning, Shiro stared down at his feet as he trudged his way out of the hangar and into the hallway.  He tried to keep his mind on the reports he was going to have to run, but instead his thoughts drifted to his body.  How his stomach kept trying to clench as if preparing to vomit. How he could feel each hair individually on his body.  How tense and aching his muscles were as they fought a visible shiver.

This was just a cold.  He'd faced so much worse so many times.  

Yet it was harder to deal with.

Why?

Shiro was so absorbed he nearly crashed right into the white armor in front of him.  Only two firm hands on either shoulder stopped him in time.

"Jeez!"  Ryou said, taking a half step back.  "And you got on me for walking into stuff?  I'm supposed to be the bulldozer, stay outta my gig."

Blinking rapidly, Shiro focused his eyes on Ryou.  "Oh, sorry. I was lost in thought."

"No kidding."  Ryou looked him over, eyes narrowed.  "That fight went well. Nothing went wrong for once, it was practically a miracle.  So what's wrong? You look rough. Have since this morning, actually."

Shiro sighed and wrapped his hands around each of Ryou's wrists, peeling him off.  "Nothing is wrong. I'm just thinking about what else I have to do today." When he only got a flat look, he sighed.  “It wasn’t a great night.”

Guilt made Shiro’s stomach turn, but the lie worked.  Ryou’s expression melted into sympathy. “You need to disappear for a while?  If you want to catch a nap, I can cover you for a while.”

Black’s memory surfaced again, and this time Shiro had no one to blame but himself.   Even so, he shook his head. “No, I’m not going to be able to relax for a while. Especially not before I get my work done tonight.  I’ll just be thinking about it.”

"Ah.  Just reports and star maps?"  Ryou tilted his head, lips pressed thin.  "I can split that with you. I was keeping track of the communications with the ground forces while you guys fought.  I probably have a better picture of the whole battle."

Immediately, Shiro bristled.  "I can handle my own job just fine, thank you.  Stay outta my gig."

Ryou huffed as his own words were thrown back in his face.  "Oh, yes, Shiro, I think you're totally incapable of paperwork.  That's exactly what's happening here." He jabbed Shiro in the chest.  "I have nothing else to do. I don't even have any interesting projects going.  You know I can do it too, so why not let me take some?"

There was literally no good reason not to, except that Shiro just didn't want to.  The rational part of his mind was small compared to the ragged irritation still rising.  Shiro was perfectly capable of doing the job he had been for well over a year now, thank you very much.

But that wasn't sense talking.  Ryou was right. He'd been doing more of the coordinating that battle, along with Coran.  Shiro had been busy keeping track of the air forces and the rest of the current Voltron team.  Ryou would be able to fill out certain reports more easily and with more complete information.

It was just galling.

"Fine," Shiro sighed, biting back a growl.  Like with Black, he wanted to shove Ryou away and lick his wounds in peace.  But unlike the lion, Ryou would make it his personal goal to be  _ extra annoying _ if he tried _. _  So this was the path of less resistance.

"Awesome."  Ryou beamed at him, then grabbed him by the arm and started to drag Shiro along with him.  "If I’m taking half, you’ve got some extra hours before you need to work. Guess what day it is?"

Shiro wracked his brain as he stumbled, forcing himself to keep up with Ryou's eager pace despite how slugging his own steps were.  "...I think it's Thursday, relative to Earth. I forget the Altean version."

"It's Monday, actually, which you would know if you looked at Hunk's calendar more than twice a month.  But! That's not what I'm talking about." Ryou charged down the hall, then made to turn into the rec room.

And promptly smacked right into the door frame on his right side.

Yelping, Ryou nearly jolted clean off his feet.  He let go of Shiro to clutch his shoulder. "Ow! Fuck a  _ duck, _ that hurts."

There was a cleared throat inside.  "What is a duck, and why would one fornicate with it?"  Allura asked, voice low like it wasn't meant to be heard so far away.

Hunk choked, then coughed hard several times.  "Um- oh, man. It's not- you shouldn't- um..."

"A duck is a kind of bird, and you wouldn't," Pidge answered, nothing but amused.  "It just rhymes so it's fun to say."

"It does?"  Allura hummed.  "Not in Altean."

Still rubbing his shoulder, Ryou stepped carefully around the doorframe, then used his good hand to gesture Shiro in as well. "Quiznak a duck doesn't sound awful, though."

Shiro followed, revealing the couches half occupied.  Allura and Hunk had changed out of their armor and into their civilian clothing, while Pidge hadn't bothered.  Several water packs were lined up on the table, as well as a bowl of something round, shiny and green.

It finally occurred to Shiro what Ryou had been talking about.

"Star Trek day?"  He asked.

"Oh, hey, Shiro!"  Hunk waved cheerfully.  "Yup. We were hoping the fight would go fast, and then it did for once.  You joining us?"

Shiro opened his mouth to deny that, but stopped at all the eager looks.  They seemed genuinely glad to have him join them.

Which was odd.  It wasn't like he was a regular part of their viewing.  He hadn't really wanted to sit through the first couple of awkward seasons of Next Gen in the first place, and he had so many more important things to be doing.

But Ryou had just taken half his work off his plate, which did free up a couple of hours.  And he really was exhausted. Maybe a little break between the fight and his paperwork would help clear his head.  

"Depends," he finally said.  "What episode are you on?"

"We just started season five last time," Pidge said. She put her feet on the table, nearly knocking over the lined up water packs like dominoes.

Ryou waggled his brows.  "Next one is the one with the aliens who talk all in metaphor."  He looked distinctly pleased about that.

No small wonder why.  He had to remember Shiro's fondness for season 5 in general, that episode among them.

Dammit.

Shiro hesitated, then nodded.  "Just one episode."

Allura beamed and patted the empty space next to her.  "Good. Would you like to join me?"

From previous viewing experiences, that meant 'will you explain all the references and jokes I don't get?'  But Shiro didn't mind that job, so he nodded and settled in next to her.

Ryou started to sit down on Shiro's other side, but Hunk put out a hand to stop you.  "Mind sitting between me and Pidge? Coran mentioned about your arm problem. We figured we could take a look while we watch."

Visibly bristling, Ryou frowned.  "Not a lot to look at. One part of me is buff and one part of me isn't.  I really don't know how I missed it for so long."

"None of us noticed," Pidge said.  She scooted aside and watched Ryou pointedly until he obligingly sat between her and Hunk.  "It was probably a slow change."

Hunk used a tablet to start up the episode, then pulled Ryou's arm into his lap without so much as asking.  

Tensing, Shiro opened his mouth to tell Hunk to be gentle.  After all, Ryou's shoulder was badly bruised at this point. Being jerked around like that couldn't be comfortable.  But Ryou only smiled indulgently, looking nothing but calm about the situation. So Shiro settled back and clenched his jaw.  

Allura settled in comfortably, tucking her legs under herself and wrapping her arms around a pillow like a stuffed animal.  She watched them fuss over Ryou's arm for a moment, then smiled at Shiro. "Do you plan on joining more of our Star Trek evenings, then?"

"Maybe," Shiro said.  "You are in the good episodes, now.  Or, at least, a lot of them. I figured you guys would be past here by now."

Sighing, Allura shook her head.  "No, we don't get the opportunity to watch as much as we’d like.  Often when we schedule these afternoons, something comes up. But they're nice when we do get the chance.  I find Earth's theories on other lifeforms intriguing. When we were watching the stories of the other captain, there were many creatures that were fluffy and small.  I would quite like to meet some myself."

Shiro laughed, more than little charmed.  Of course Allura liked the cute animals, considering her own pets.  "Well, tribbles aren't really worth the chaos."

"Speak for yourself," Pidge called, as she produced a caliper from her bag and used it to measure Ryou's forearms against the other.  Ryou craned his neck to see the numbers as well. "I'd keep tribbles. We'd just have to be careful about it."

"I mean one of the other ones," Allura said.  "It was about this big, and it was very fluffy and brown, and had a single, long horn from the forehead."  She gestured in front of her, about the size of a basketball.

It took Shiro a moment, and then grinned.  "Oh! I know what you're talking about. That Al... number dog."

"Alfa 177," Hunk called.  He didn’t even look over as watched Pidge work, nose wrinkled as he looked between both of Ryou’s arms.  

"Then I have good news for you, Princess," Shiro said.  "Those exist on Earth, except without the horn. They literally just put it in a slightly fluffier costume with a stuffed horn attached."

Allura's eyes went wide.  "They said you had canines, but I didn't know- oh!  Yes, I would like to see one. Are they truly that size?"

Still grinning, Shiro nodded.  "Actually, a dog is an interesting species.  They were bred for protection and to aid in hunting at first, but then humanity continued to specialize them into different forms and shapes and sizes.  There and dozens of kinds of dogs, and they're incredibly different from each other. We'll have to show you several and see what you think."

"Oh!"  Allura clapped her hands over her mouth, utterly distracted from the show by now.  "That is something to look forward to, yes. Are any of them as small as the mice?"

"Close.  Most are bigger, but a couple can fit in your hand."

"Wonderful."  Allura smiled.  "So your planet’s version of an alien dog was to just put a horn on an Earth dog?"

"Yup," Ryou called.  "To be fair, our idea of aliens is to put forehead ridges on humans too, so we’re just like that."

Shiro settled more comfortably into the corner of the couch, relaxing inch by inch.  They weren't doing a great job of actually enjoying an excellent episode - Picard and Dathon were already on the planet, and no one seemed to have paid attention to the reason why.  But it was clearly more about the company than the Star Trek anyway.

More importantly, the more Shiro sank into the couch, the less his stomach rebelled.  The break had been a good idea.

Sighing, Pidge put away her caliper.  "Okay, so the difference between your arms is too much to just shave down the sides of the casing.  We'd cut through before we do enough."

"Coulda told you that," Ryou said.  He flexed his fingers on both hands, eyes darting back and forth between them.  "The hands are about the same, but the arm itself is going to have to be totally remade.  Besides, even if we could, weakening the metal is a bad idea. It's already not as sturdy as the Galra arm."

Hunk nodded reluctantly.  "Well, it would have been a nice stop-gap while we make new casing anyway.  At least you wouldn't be walking into any more walls."

Groaning, Ryou slumped down further on the couch.  He used his foot to nudge over one of the water packets, so he could reach without disturbing Pidge on his arm.  "Now that I know what the problem is, I can adjust. This can wait a while."

"No, it can't," Shiro reminded.  "Balance is critical in a fight, especially since you love charging with your shield.  That does you no good if someone can easily knock you off balance, or if you can't judge where you're going to end up.  This is something you need to take care of sooner rather than later."

Rather than answer, Ryou stared Shiro down, his eyes narrowed.  He didn't need to say the word 'hypocrite' out loud.

Shiro set his jaw and looked away, his chest tight.  His brother (and Black) had a point.

This wasn't about Shiro, though.  This was about a serious problem that could put Ryou and the team in danger if it happened in the field.  Not just a few annoying symptoms.

"You know I'm right."  Shiro crossed his arms and leaned back, watching the screen rather than the others.  "It's dangerous to have you in the field until this is solved."

"You think so?"  Ryou huffed at him, teeth bared.  "C'mon, prove it. Right here, right now.  Let’s see who the problem is."

Shiro's brows rose.  He turned his head toward Ryou and looked him up and down.  The same irritation from earlier churned in his stomach like the acid was leaking out.  He was  _ right, _ and Ryou knew it.  "You think that's a good idea?  Sure, then. We'll go to the training room, and it'll end like most of our spars."

Reeling back, Ryou hissed out his breath through his teeth.  He didn't respond, just stared right back at Shiro. But the aggression couldn't mask the hurt flashing across his eyes.

Yet again, Shiro bit back guilt.  Ryou was being stubborn, but his declining physical strength was a sore spot that Shiro didn't need to jab.  Training as of late had gone Shiro's way far more often than not, when they used to be evenly matched. Given Ryou's affected balance and diminished weight, that made a lot more sense.  Neither of them had bothered to question it until now, even though Shiro knew that losing so much had to weigh on Ryou.

They should have noticed.  They should have thought twice.  Maybe they would have noticed the differences in Ryou's arms before he started walking into things.

Allura cleared her throat and sat up straight, putting on her princess posture like she might shrug on a cloak.  "I don't think that will be at all necessary," she said, voice clipped and precise. "If you must get competitive, please save it for some other time.  Star Trek day is supposed to be relaxing."

"Yeah, 'cause you never get competitive," Ryou muttered, even as he slumped back down.  He looked up through his bangs and sighed. "I know you need to fix it. Just not tonight?  I won't fly Yellow unless it's an emergency."

Stomach dropping, Shiro swallowed hard.

As different as Ryou was, once in a while their similarities shone.  And Shiro was left staring at the white-haired version of how he must look and sound when he was denying what he needed.  

This was different.  Ryou had a serious change to his body.  Shiro just had a cold. It was  _ different. _

"We'll need a couple of days to make the new casing, anyway," Pidge offered, her voice softening.  "Do you want to be part of it, this time?"

Ryou hesitated, then nodded.  "Yeah. We're going to need to change the port too, or else it's not going to match up right.  If I keep slimming down, it might start pulling at the skin and muscle if my shoulder isn't big enough for the arm anymore."

Which meant this wasn't going to just be a matter of popping on a new arm.  They were going to have to put Ryou under again and replace the metal where it met skin.  They'd managed it before, but it was dangerous and required more recovery, and a trip in the pod.

"It'll be worth it," Shiro said.  He slumped back against the couch as he looked over Ryou's face.  "It's worth it for you to be comfortable."

The hypocrisy of the words pressed against Shiro's heart like a physical weight, which only made his head throb harder.  But it was different. He swore it was different. 

Ryou sighed and nodded.  "When it happens. In the meantime I'll just keep walking into stationary objects.  We can keep score."

"Ten points for anything that gets knocked down when you hit it."  Pidge patted Ryou's natural shoulder. "Five points for everything sturdy.  Let's see how high your points get before we get the new arm on you."

Cracking a smile, Ryou tilted his head.  "This isn't encouraging me to avoid hitting my arm, you realize."

"One would hope the bruising would," Allura said.  She gave Ryou a fanged smile. "Besides, this is like your... the one with the stick and the small ball.  Putt-putt? You want a lower score, not a higher score. Perhaps we could make a game out of it."

Oh, boy.  That could be trouble.

But Ryou finally perked up and his eyes flashed.  "What's your bet?"

"If you get over 30 by the time you replace the arm, I win.  If not, you win. Standard dare bet."

Ryou grinned, finally cheering back up.  "You're on, Princess."

Biting back his own sigh, Shiro slumped back.  At least he approved of the spirit of this bet, which was more than he could say for their usual dares.  Besides, he just didn't have the energy to corral them both. Not when it made Ryou smile again.

"Has anyone caught a word of the episode?" Shiro asked instead.

The whole group startled and looked up at the screen.  "Nope," Hunk said. "Sorry, we talked right over it. We should start over." 

Shiro tensed. They were halfway through the episode, which was 20 minutes more than he meant to spend doing this.  He should be working.

But when he even thought about standing up, his stomach twisted and his body ached in preemptive disagreement.

One episode.  Just the one. 

Then Shiro would get back to work, and he'd be perfectly fine.

He stared at the screen, barely listening even now that everyone was paying attention.  

The whole time, Shiro avoided looking at Ryou.

***

Dinner had been a huge mistake.

It had been alright, at first.  Shiro wouldn't have described himself as hungry, but he also wasn't one to pass up a meal.  Not intentionally, anyway. He occasionally lost track of time, absorbed in a task, but if he remembered dinner or if he was at the table, he would eat.  Even if he didn't remember most of his year with the Galra, he knew going hungry and been a favored punishment. 

Remembering that had made for a bad night.

Shiro had managed to sit through the meal without much trouble.  Each mouthful sat like lead in his stomach, and his fingers shook around his fork.  But the jovial atmosphere covered that, and he'd kept up conversation just fine. Between Lance and Hunk starting up an impromptu duet of some pop song or another, and Matt intentionally trying to draw out more ridiculous stories out of Coran, there had been than enough chaos to cover Shiro's minor stumbles.

That had all been fine.  Shiro had swallowed down the food in front of him and sipped at his water until he felt less like he'd been punched in the gut.

But when he'd slipped out into the hallway to get back to work, his stomach had twisted so painfully Shiro nearly dropped to his knees right then and there.

He bolted blindly for the bathroom, eyes wide but unseeing as his body rebelled.   Stumbling, he crashed his shoulder into the wall to hold himself up as another violent, shuddering twist jolted through him.  

Cramps.  Shiro had never had cramps like this.  He'd overworked his muscles before and nursed the ache after, but this was different.  His stomach clenched, doubling him over and nearly pulling him off his feet. Sweat prickled over his forehead and on the back of his neck, either from panic or from the pain.

Stumbling, Shiro placed one hand on the wall, the other clutching his gut like it was about to burst out.  Bent double like that, it was impossible to see where he was going. He caught the edge of the stall, then shoulder checked his way in.  He crashed to his knees in front of what served as an Altean toilet. 

As if just being there was the permission he'd needed, Shiro jerked, then vomited into the basin.  He'd just finished eating, so there had been no time for anything to digest. He could taste the herbs from the meat as uncomfortable chunks worked up his throat and out his mouth.  Coughing, he spat out the bile and tainted spit, and tried to catch his breath. But just as Shiro started to pull in air, his stomach squeezed again. This time, more acid came up, spraying out violently.

That continued for several more rounds.  Within minutes, Shiro's previously aching muscles burned with the effort.  His abs in particular shook from exhaustion, though he couldn't stop the way he continued to jerk and gag.  Tears stained down his cheeks, both from the burning in his throat and the lack of proper air. He couldn't get more than a gulp or two before he'd gag and let out more bile.  His lungs strained, feeble and unable to fully expand as his body refused to clear his airway.

Finally, when nothing more would come up each gag, Shiro pressed his burning forehead to the cool seat.  It felt amazing against his burning flesh. Hopefully whatever mechanisms that kept the general castle clean did a good job of these, but he couldn't be bothered to care right now.  Air was more important, and so was soothing the heat running through him.

Shiro reached up, pressing the back of his hand against his own forehead.  His fingers were clammy and uncoordinated, so it was difficult to tell. If he had to guess from the touch, Shiro had a fever, but probably not a significant one.

The knowledge didn't make him feel any better.

This was more serious than he'd been anticipating.

"Just a cold," he muttered to himself, as if that could make it true.  His voice was ragged, like he'd swallowed something living and it clawed the whole way down.  "Just a cold. M'fine."

It had to be a cold.  They were finally making real progress to push back the Galra.  The universe depended on them. There wasn’t  _ time _ to get sick.

Shiro’s heartbeat pounded in his ears, rushing and roaring hard enough to drown out anything but his pained, rapid breathing.  He reached up without looking and finally flushed the toilet, before pushing himself to his feet. He swayed in place, but managed to right himself again.

Water.  He needed water.  It would make his throat better, and it would get rid of the taste of bile mixed with the remains of dinner.

Turning, Shiro pushed open the stall door.

Just in time to see the bathroom door open, and Hunk step through.

Their eyes met.  Before Shiro could even straighten himself up and make himself presentable, Hunk's mouth fell open.

"Shiro?  Are you okay?"  He looked Shiro over, then paused and crinkled his nose.  "Oh, man, you don't look good."

"M'alright," Shiro said.  His ragged, ruined voice immediately made a lie of that.  "I think something I ate didn't sit right with me. I'm gunna..."  He used the stall door to push himself upright, then made his way to the sink to take several careful sips of water.  His stomach jerked again, but more weakly this time. If he kept it slow, he was fine.

Hunk covered behind him.  In the mirror, he frowned and reached out, but he never dared to touch.  "From dinner today, you think?"

"No."  Shiro winced at his own honesty.  Shit, that had been thoughtless. "I wasn't feeling 100 percent this morning.  When I ate is when it got bad."

Eyes lighting up, Hunk made a sympathetic noise.  "Ah, man. You having, uh, stomach problems? Digestion... issues.  In general. Anything else?"

Shiro hesitated.  But he was already utterly caught, so there was no sense trying to pretend he hadn't just been throwing up.  Even if he'd flushed, the evidence was still clear. "Vomiting, yes. Headache. Cramps. Not really a fever, I don’t think."

"Eugh."  Thankfully, the noise was sympathetic, not disgusted. Hunk finally dared to touch, very gently patting Shiro on the shoulder with just three fingers.  "Yeah, something yesterday or the day before might set you off. Kinda sounds like food poisoning, buddy. Sometimes it takes a day or two to hit."

Oh.  Despite everything, Shiro had never had food poisoning before.  He'd heard classmates mention getting it, and it always sounded unpleasant.  But those people got over it over a weekend. He hadn't realized it felt like  _ dying. _  Pulling back, Shiro pushed his sweaty bangs off his forehead and faced Hunk.  "Do I need to do something about that?"

"I mean,  _ yeah," _ Hunk said.  "Lie down? Rest up?  Keep near a bathroom, too.  You're going to need it. Oh, and we should get you hydrated.  That's really important. You probably just lost a ton of fluids."

Shiro scrubbed over his face.  "It's already been a day. Shouldn't it be basically over?"

Brows up, Hunk shrugged.  "It's space food poisoning, though.  I'd hope you're getting close, but I can't say for sure. Sometimes it can take a day or so.  Either way, liquids for you."

Rather than answer, Shiro pointed to the sink.

"More than that," Hunk said.  "Maybe in a cup? Like we're people?  Even better, I have this Altean stuff that's basically tea, and it's perfect for nausea.  I used it a ton back when I used to get more motion sickness. I can make you some."

That would be a good ideal.  If Shiro could get his stomach back under control, he would be functional again.  "That would be nice. Thank you, Hunk."

Hunk shrugged, though his expression softened.  "Of course, Shiro. I’m happy to help. Especially when you're not, you know, contagious or whatever.  You think you can get to your room? You'll feel a lot better if you're not in your armor. A cool shower would probably help too.  I can meet you in the kitchen after."

That wasn't a bad idea.  The armor's undersuit felt distinctly grubby after all that sweating, both from the battle and after.  It and Shiro both needed a good wash. 

"Alright."  Shiro took a deep breath, then straightened up.  His muscles protested the move, but they didn't get an opinion.  "I'll do that. Give me fifteen."

"Take your time.  I have to go get everything anyway."  Hunk looked Shiro up and down. "Do you need help getting to your room?"

The irritation from before crashed back over Shiro like a wave.  Let Hunk get even more of an eyeful of his pathetic condition? No thank you.

Shiro bit back another snarl and reminded himself that Hunk was helping, not criticizing.  "I can manage just fine."

Hunk gave him another gentle, three-fingered pat. "Okay.  But if you change your mind, just call."

What was Hunk going to do?  Carry Shiro to his room and undress him like a toddler?  

Shiro let out his breath through his nose.  "Of course," he lied, then stepped around Hunk as steadily as he could manage.  He kept his head high and his back straight until he turned down the hall, just to prove how perfectly fine he was.

By the time he got to his room, he was shaking again.  But it was worth it.

Shiro took a shower as quickly as he could, rinsing more than giving himself a dedicated scrub.  He'd showered that morning, after all, and he'd probably take another one tomorrow. Right now he just wanted to cool himself off and shock himself into awareness.

Closing his eyes, Shiro let the wind flutter his hair, which settled him further.  Usually this was one of his favorite parts of the castle. Closing his eyes and letting the air hit his face still reminded him of pushing the limits on a hoverbike.  Even years later, the memory was grounding and comforting.

Right now, even the wind felt abrasive to his sensitized skin.  But it still helped.

Once he was dry, Shiro went back into his bedroom.  He picked up his usual civilian clothing, then hesitated.  The thick, tight clothing would scrape like hell if he pulled it on.  He couldn't put on his armor again, either. The material was softer, but it desperately needed that wash, and probably still smelled at least a little like vomit.

Which left...

Sighing, Shiro reluctantly pulled on his pajamas instead.  The silken, loose material was a relief, comparatively. He would look like a slob, but at least Hunk would be the only one who saw him.  And then he could get his damn work done and go to sleep.

If he'd just done the work when he was supposed to, rather than letting himself be drawn into Star Trek day, then he'd be done by now.

Served him right.

Shiro forewent the Black Lion slippers, unwilling to get them gross if he had to be sick again.  Instead he walked barefoot through the halls, scraping together his dignity and wearing it like a replacement for his armor.

When he stepped into the kitchen, he expected to see Hunk at the table with his tea.

He did not expect to see Lance there as well.

Shiro crossed his arms in front of him, as if the physical barrier could make him look properly professional again.  The gesture also conveniently hid the shake to his hands, though it made his back and shoulders burn from fatigue. "Hello, Lance.  I didn't know you'd be here as well."

"Sorry," Hunk said, giving him an awkward smile and a little wave from his seat.  "I gave the rest of my tea supply to him, since my stomach has been better. I had to get it from him, and he wanted some."

"It's my tea, so yeah," Lance said.  He toasted with his cup, which was still empty.  "Hunk said you were sick? You caught something again?"

Shiro slowly tracked his gaze to Hunk, who only gave a helpless shrug.  "No, nothing like that. Seems I ate something that didn't agree with me.  I think I got through the worst of it just now, but the tea still sounds like a good idea."

Hunk pulled out a chair so Shiro could sit down as well.  "It'll be ready in a couple of minutes. No offense, dude, but you still look like you could use a good night's rest.  But it's better?"

Nodding, Shiro schooled his expression into a smile.  "I wouldn't say I feel great, but I'm definitely better than when you found me."

Eyes narrowed, Lance tilted his head and looked over Shiro with a sharp eye.

Shiro's veins iced over.  He resisted the urge to lean away, as if physical distance would hide him from Lance's too-keen stare.  Why was he looking at him like that? Technically, nothing Shiro was saying was inaccurate.

But all Lance did was nod.  "Yeah, been there. We've been super lucky with food so far out in space. I mean, I know the helmets can check, but it's designed for Altean bodies, not human."

"I helped Coran make the updates," Hunk said.  "But it's not foolproof, definitely. Besides, that's not even counting allergies.  I don't think any of us have any on Earth, but that's of the substances we know. How many other weird chemicals out in space could our bodies decide are invaders?"

Frowning, Shiro considered Hunk.  "I hadn't even thought about that."  He didn't have allergies on Earth, so it had never been something he'd given much thought to.

"Yeah, well, food stuff is my job."  Hunk flapped a hand. 

A soft beep drew his attention.  Pushing himself up to his feet, Hunk stepped to the stove and poured hot water into what must have been the Atlean version of a kettle.  He took that, along with three cups, to the table.

While the tea steeped, Shiro leaned back in his chair.  "It would probably be wise to try and duplicate some of Pidge's antihistamines, just in case.  If worse comes to worse, they're better than nothing. One of those injectable versions would be better, but I'm not sure we can safely recreate one."

"We've done pretty well so far without them," Lance said.  He tapped his fingers against the table, watching the kettle with open eagerness.  "When we're on world, we're mostly wearing our suits, too. Those are good in the void of space, so they probably block out allergens."

"But how often do we walk around with our helmets open?"  Hunk waved a hand in front of his own face in demonstration.  "The castle filters our air pretty well, so maybe short term exposure isn't so bad, but still.  Doesn't take much. We might be able to figure out an allergy pen. I'll talk to Pidge and Coran about it."  

"I'd appreciate that."  Shiro started to relax, despite his symptoms.  They really were tolerable when he wasn't focusing on them.  

Hunk gave him a thumbs up, then poured each of them a cup of tea.  He held his own in his hands, clearly soaking up the heat in his palms.  "The steam is good for your throat, too. Should soothe a sore throat."

"My throat is fine," Shiro said, without looking up.  He carefully took his own cup to blow on it.

Lance shot up straight, eyes bright with triumph.  "Lie," he said, utterly final.

...What?

Frowning at him, Shiro shook his head. "No, it's not."

"Yeah, it is," Lance shot back, no less satisfied.

Hunk cleared his throat.  "Considering how bad your voice sounded fifteen minutes ago?  Yes, I would image your throat is still rough."

"From the vomiting.  Not from anything else."  Shiro set his jaw and shrugged, then sipped his tea without breathing in the vapor just to be contrary to the concept.

The warmth trickling down his throat felt amazing.  But even better was the way his stomach didn't churn.

Lips pressed thin, Hunk tilted his head at Shiro.  "So you were definitely lying. How’d you know, Lance?"

"Because that's Ryou's lying face too," Lance said.  He took a big swig of his own tea, then winced and dropped his mouth open to cool it off.  "Ow. Yeah, Ryou gets that exact same blank look on his face. Just don't tell him I said that."

Shiro stilled, outrage bubbling in him like the bile earlier.  Lance shouldn't be able to tell that, especially not because Ryou was his clone.  "That means nothing. Ryou's expressions are different from mine now."

"That's what I thought," Lance said, head held high.  "Until you admitted you lie and proved it for me."

_ Dammit.   _

Shiro shot Hunk another narrowed look.  He would have rather not had the tea than be interrogated and picked apart.

Hunk held up both hands in placation.  "Shiro, we're just trying to help. Why wouldn't you just admit your throat hurts?"

"It's not so bad," Shiro said.  "I don't need a fuss to be made.  I just wanted some tea. I was honestly fine until-"  He froze, then turned to Lance.

Lance, who had his arms crossed and his brows raised warningly.  "Yup. Try again."

That wasn't fair!  They weren't supposed to be able to tell when he lied.  Ryou could, but he at least had the decency to take Shiro aside to call out his bullshit.  Usually, anyway.

"As I said to Hunk before," Shiro said, each word clipped and pointed, "I woke up feeling off, but it wasn't a problem until after dinner.  I probably ate something that had gone bad."

Hunk frowned. "Something that you ate that no one else did?"

Why was Hunk picking this apart now?  “Food poisoning was your diagnosis.”

“Yeah, and I’m not a medical professional,” Hunk said, shrugging.  He sipped his own tea. “I’m thinking about it more, now. If it’s food poisoning and not an allergy, what did you eat that didn’t hit anyone else?”

Yesterday had been all pre-mission work from the castle.  Shiro had eaten goo for lunch, and Hunk's prepared dinner.  Nothing had been unique to him.

Shiro closed his eyes tightly.  He  _ wanted _ it to be food poisoning.  That was miserable, but it was fast and then he’d be fine.

Sighing, Hunk gestured to the cup.  "Just drink for now. It'll help, and you definitely still need liquids no matter what.  But if you have a bug, Shiro, you should rest up. Maybe stick to your room. You don't want to spread it along."

This was exactly what Shiro had been dreading.  "We don't have time for that," he said. He did take another sip, but the relief of the tea did little against how tense he was getting.  "I need to be coordinating with the Blade and the Coalition as much as possible. If we don't take advantage of the opportunities from the Voltron show, the Galra will just take back those planets with force.  When they do that, no one else will want to flip to our side for fear of retaliation."

"That fight's not going to be tomorrow."  Lance sighed and scooted forward, reaching for Shiro's forehead.  He frowned when Shiro leaned abruptly out of the way. "You'd be mad if any of us were denying we were sick, you know."

Shiro scrambled for a response to that, but he couldn't.  He would be mad. He'd have a serious talk with them about respecting their health and making sure they were ready for the next big fight.  The team needed everyone at 100 percent, or else they could falter at the wrong moment.

But Shiro had been far sicker and weaker than this and won for the Galra.  Why couldn't he do it for Voltron?

Rather than try to answer, Shiro took a big gulp of his tea to stall for time.

"I get why it was hard to take a break before," Hunk said, his voice gentling.  He put down his own cup and rocked it on the edge, making the liquid splash out but never quite spill.  "When it was just us five in Voltron, and if anyone was gone, the universe was screwed. But that's not true anymore.  You can rest Shiro. We can handle it."

Shiro didn't  _ want _ them to handle it.  He wanted to take part.  He wanted to hit back at the Galra, turn their Champion against them.  They’d turned him into a weapon they could use even at his weakest. 

He’d sidelined himself for weeks so Keith and the rest of the team could grow in stable conditions.  He’d happily and immediately sacrificed himself and Ryou, forcibly sidelining them just so those five could work together effectively.

But now he couldn’t bare to let them go on without him.  All he could think of were his fears. How he could be lying in bed while his team struggled.  He’d be cuddled up with a blanket and a pillow, napping away, while they were hurt or maybe dying.  They might need his eyes or need him there to fight, and he wouldn’t be there for them.

Shiro didn’t want to be left behind.

That was all moot point, though. If he got sick again, next time in the Black Lion?  He wouldn’t just be dead weight. He’d be a liability, and he’d be denying the team an effective head.  He’d already nearly let them down, and it was only getting worse.

It was time to admit defeat.

He’d never been any good at that.

"I know," Shiro finally said, slumping.  "You’re right. Both of you. I'll try and take tomorrow morning off and see if that helps."

"Good plan," Lance said.  He knocked his shoulder with Shiro's, much more cheerful now.  "And for what it's worth, I promise to only use my Shirogane lie detection powers for good."

"Then I'll only punch Ryou's face in a little for giving up the game."

Lance snorted, clearly not taking the threat very seriously.  Instead, he pulled out a tin from under the table and pushed it in front of Shiro.  "Is the tea helping?"

Looking down at his cup, Shiro nodded.  "With the stomach issues? Yes, at least a little."  

"Good.  Here's the rest of it."  When Shiro's brows rose, Lance shrugged.  "It's the least I can do. I know Ryou already grabbed some of your reports, so I’ll help him with the rest.  Makes the load a little lighter on everyone."

Hunk nodded.  "I can help talk with the coalition and Blade leaders too.  I don't do all the logistical coordination like you do, but I've gotten pretty good at speaking with them.  Everyone loves finger foods, it's a universal constant."

Looking from Hunk to Lance, Shiro softened and cracked a genuine smile.  "That would be nice. Thank you both."

Way back when they'd first become paladins, these two had been the ones Shiro worried about most.  Hunk could barely stand in a lion without getting nervous and sick, and Lance had been flirting obnoxiously one moment and showboating the other.  Pidge and Keith were young, but they were at least serious and driven, like Shiro. He could work with that. These two, though, he hadn't really been sure what to do with.

Yet here they were, confidently taking on Shiro's duties when he couldn't.

It still made him nervous, but hell if Shiro wasn't proud of them.

He drained the remains of the tea in one go, then stood slowly.  "Anybody else done?"

Lance topped off his tea and shook his head.  "No way, I'm savoring. This stuff tastes amazing."

Honestly, Shiro hadn't even noticed the taste over the relief, but he nodded obligingly anyway as he took Hunk's cup.  He carefully rinsed both out before putting them in the cleaning chest (which was not a dishwasher, at least not in front of the Alteans).  "I'm going to head to bed, then. Thank you for the talk and your help. And the tea."

"Of course," Hunk said.  "Feel better. You're not going to try to work?"

Shiro considered but, but he shook his head. "No.  I'm probably not doing the best job right now anyway."

Beaming, Lance held up his hand, and Hunk high-fived it.  "Nice. The Lance-and-Hunk Tag Team fixes everything."

Shiro rolled his eyes, but didn't comment as he picked up the tin.  They'd been relatively gentle in talking him down, so he had no room to complain.  "Have a good night."

"You too."  Hunk waved as the door closed behind Shiro.

The anxiety still lurked in the back of Shiro's mind, a lurking helplessness.  But Shiro could ignore it now as he made his way to his rooms.

After all, it was only until tomorrow morning.


	3. Chapter 3

The second Shiro opened his eyes, he regretted it.

His whole body ached, prickling like he was covered in tiny needles that slid into his muscles.  Even the bare lights of his room felt like they were stabbing right into his brain. The headache immediately reasserted itself like it had never left, and his stomach flipped uncomfortably in reaction.

This was bad.  This was not going to be better by this afternoon.  

It was so tempting to roll back over and close his eyes.  He could put his pillow over his head and block out the hateful light, and drift back off until this all felt better. Shiro wanted to do nothing more.  But he couldn't. Because he'd woken up from the pressure of his bladder, and if he didn't do something about it, he was going to be far more miserable.

Groaning, Shiro pushed himself up.  His arm shook from the effort, fingers tingling at the very tips.  He stared down at them, confused by the sensation. He'd had bad illnesses, including catching the flu one year at the Garrison.  That had been torture, stuck in a tiny, uncomfortable cot surrounded by sterile smells. But he'd never felt like this before.

Space colds sucked.

Shiro painstakingly climbed to his feet and wobbled, almost immediately losing his balance.  It took several seconds for him to right himself fully, and then he reluctantly trudged down the hall.  Between the ache in his muscles and his complete lack of coordination, he had to focus on every single step individually, like each one was a complex puzzle.

Thankfully, the bathroom wasn't far down the hall.  Shiro relieved himself as quickly as he could manage, bracing himself on the wall as he breathed deeply.  The effort of getting here had drained him. A fine layer of sweat covered his forehead, evidence of either the strain or a minor fever. 

Once he was done, Shiro washed his hands.  The sight of water made him realize how utterly dry his mouth was, like his tongue was a rough sponge sticking to his palate.  He ducked forward and took a big sip, and then another. Another. The next he just held in his mouth, swishing it around.

It helped a little, but not enough.  His mouth still felt barren.

What was going on?

Shiro stared at himself on the mirror as he swallowed the last mouthful of water.  He looked like a complete disaster. His hair was sticking up from when he'd crashed, and his lips were cracked, another sign of his sudden dehydration.  He seemed even paler than normal, but that might have been the sheen of sweat creating brighter highlights over his face. Under his eyes, deep bruises made his features sharper, and his pupils were so blown that there was barely any color around him.

Huh.  That last bit would be why he had such a punishing headache, at least.

Licking his lips, Shiro considered his reflection.  He reached up with the metal hand and ran a finger over the bridge of his nose.  "This is all your fault," he muttered to the scar.

In the mirror, his metal fingers shook.

Shiro pulled back and stared at them, surprised.  Normally, his metal hand responded without the physicality of his natural one.  It was hooked up directly to his thoughts, without all the messiness of tendons and muscles, and so it was faster, stronger, and unaffected by trivialities like his mood.  Perfect for combat.

Today, not so much.

Shivering, Shiro clenched his hand into a fist.  The minor act was still draining, so Shiro let the arm fall, feeling the tug of the weight.  Normally he didn't, but he was already so sore and exhausted that he must be able to feel gravity's effect more powerfully.

There was no hiding this.  Even if he could, Shiro didn't want to.  Yesterday's attempts at hiding had been disastrous.  Even if he could have managed, he shouldn't. He was in no state to plan meetings or fight the Galra.  He was a liability.

A burden.

The least he could do was go back to bed and rest up to get better.  He'd be out of the way, there, and no one would have to keep up with him or see him in such a state.

That in mind, Shiro drew himself up, bracing for the herculean task of walking back down the hall to his room.  Then, with the utmost seriousness and care, he started to walk.

This time, it was even worse.  Shiro had already used so much energy on the first trip, and each and every step took his entire concentration.  It was easier when he got to the door, because Shiro was able to brace himself on the wall and walk. That helped keep him upright, and eliminated the need to walk in a straight line.  The wall did that for him. The wall was a good friend. It held up the ceiling and held up Shiro. No falling over.

Shiro kept his entire focus on lining up his steps, one in front of the other, like he was balancing on a line.  It was like the fake sobriety tests they'd had them do in middle schoo, when he was wearing the drunk goggles. His vision didn't want to focus or stay still, and his balance was totally shot.  Each time he moved his foot, his stomach protested. It was tempting to just sit down here, and maybe put his forehead against the wall for a little while. It would be so nice and cold.

No.  Bed. Bed was better.  Bed was soon. Bed was...

Where was his bed?

Shiro picked his head up and looked around.  He wasn't sure where he was anymore. It was the castle, but all halls looked the same.

He'd been going to his room.  Did he go the wrong way? Did he go too far?

Where...?

Pressing his forehead to the wall, Shiro groaned as the cool metal leached the heat from his forehead.  He didn't feel feverish, but it was still wonderful, like putting a cold water bottle on his neck after a long workout.  He leaned more heavily into the wall, so his cheek and arm were rubbing the metal. 

Bed.  He still needed to go to bed.  He wanted his pillows and his blanket.  But above all, he wanted to sleep. Standing and walking took so much energy out of him.

A break.  Surely he just needed a quick break, and then he could find his way back.  He was lost because he was so tired. Just a few minutes rest and he'd be able to stand up and walk back and be the Black Paladin and everything he was supposed to be.  

The floor gave off a siren’s song.  The indignity, the uncleanliness- that mattered so little compared to the seductive potential of sleep.

Shiro slid down the wall, crashing to his knees with a jolt that made him groan.  He slumped further against the wall, curling his legs up below him and tucking his arms against his chest like he'd been bundled up.

Relief rushed through his body.  All the aches and pains didn't vanish, but they lessened.  Shiro's muscles relaxed so suddenly it was like taking a deep breath after nearly drowning.

Five minutes.  Just five. Then he'd be ready.

Shiro's eyes fell shut as he curled further in on himself.  His position, his torso crushed to the wall, at a strange angle to his hips, should have been uncomfortable.  But Shiro couldn't even feel it, much less care.

Just a little while...

The confused haze over his thoughts didn't lift, only suffocating him under another layer of cotton.  His mind rolled feverishly from one thought to the next, with no connective tissue between. Bed. Voltron. His Garrison dorm.  Having the flu. His team. The void of space. Flashes of disjointed images and sensations, stresses and needs, as his mind scrambled for context.

Slowly, Shiro settled down further, the flashes of anxiety and confusion fading under a wave of exhaustion.  Sleep pulled him down, tucked him in like a blanket, evened his breathing.

He could finally rest.

"Shiro?"

No.  No  _ no.  _  He'd been so close.  He was about to sleep.  Who was waking him up?

"Shiro!"  Hands gripped his shoulders, turning him around.  Shiro turned his head away limply, trying to keep it connected to the cold metal, but the angle wouldn't let him.  "Shiro, what happened? Are you hurt?"

With a groan of protest, Shiro cracked his eyes back open.  The light spiked through his brain like a red-hot poker. He shook his shoulders, trying to break free of the grip, then glared at the person hold him.  "Go 'way. Tired."

Keith stared back at him, worry and confusion etched deep into the lines of his face.  He really had too many for someone his age. He was barely in his twenties, far too young for worry lines.

Most of those were Shiro's fault.

Pidge knelt down, bringing her into Shiro's eye line and thus his awareness.   There were another pair of legs there too, but Shiro wasn't up to connecting them to an identity yet.

"What are you doing out here?" Pidge asked.  Her brows knitted together, clearly looking over him for injury.  "Hunk and Lance said you were sick."

Dammit, why couldn't they just let him rest?  Shiro jerked again, and this time managed to get free of Keith's grip.  "Needed the bathroom. Got tired on the way back. Resting now."

The laughter above didn't sound very happy.  "Shiro, buddy, you're not near the bathroom or your room. How'd you end up here?"

"Got lost."

"In the Castle of Lions?  Coming back from the bathroom?  You got  _ lost?" _  Apparently that was a bad response, because Keith looked like Shiro had tried to smack him.

Shiro just shrugged and closed his eyes again, fully prepared to sleep right here.  They should go away. They were being loud, and Shiro didn't want to be gawked at. He wanted to  _ sleep. _

"Okay, I think Hunk may have been lowballing when he said Shiro had a bug," Pidge said.

"You think?" Keith snapped back.  "He's collapsed in the hallway!"

Matt huffed.  "Woah, there, Guard Dog.  She's agreeing with you, no need to snap.  C'mon, he's clearly not going anywhere on his own.  Let's get him to the med bay and call Coran. Hey, Shiro, you think you're up to standing?"

Were they serious?  Shiro opened his eyes again to glare at the two who were close enough to look at.  Matt was too high up. Damn his stupid growth spurt. "M'fine. Resting."

"Shiro, please," Keith said.  He sounded so raw and worried that Shiro couldn't help but focus on him, rather than try to relax again.  "This is really important. You have to get up and get to Coran."

Oh.  Something serious was happening.  Was the castle under attack? Shiro nodded slowly and braced his hand on the wall.  Then he forced himself up onto his feet. Swaying in place, Shiro scratched his fingers against the wall, trying for purchase.  There wasn't any, but he still managed to stabilize. "Okay. Coran. Control room."

"No, Shiro.  Med bay." Pidge stepped on front of him and took hold of his metal hand, tugging him the right way.  There was barely enough force behind the pull to even move Shiro's arm. 

Pausing, Pidge looked down at the metal hand.  Her lips pulled down further. "You're shaking.  This hand is shaking."

Right, Shiro had noticed that too.  He stared at the metal prosthesis, noticing the way his palm and fingers managed to dwarf both of Pidge's hands.  "Yeah."

A hand settled on Shiro's shoulder.  Then Matt ducked under Shiro's right arm, bracing the extended limb over his shoulders.  Shiro's weight lifted as a good proportion was suddenly taken. "Keith, you get his other side."

Immediately, Keith squirmed under Shiro's left arm.  "Should we switch?"

"I'm bigger than you, I'll take the metal side."

"I'm Galra, I'm probably stronger than you."

Matt huffed.  "Oh, come on. I was physically fit before they let me leave for Kerberos, thanks.  And I've filled out since then. So just focus on what you're doing."

Tugging on his hand, Pidge caught Shiro's attention again.  "We're going to get you somewhere you can rest and get better, okay Shiro?  Just stay focused and don't fall asleep just yet."

That was asking so much.  Shiro's eyes drooped and his head felt like it was made of metal too.  It would be so nice to just let himself slump down and sleep again. But Pidge was asking it so seriously, and Keith had been so worried, and Matt wasn't even making jokes.  This had to be very important. So Shiro nodded and focused his eyes on Pidge.

Once he wasn't about to drift off again, Pidge nodded and started to lead their strange little procession down the hallway.  She walked backwards, only glancing over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't about to run into anything.

"This can't be normal," Keith said.  His voice was rough, smaller than normal.

Scared.

What was happening that could scare Keith?

Shiro lifted his left hand and let it rest on top of Keith's hair instead, clumsily ruffling.  "Shhh. S'okay."

"He's probably got a bad fever," Matt said, more gently than before.  "The high ones can make people delirious, right?"

"Feel his skin.  He's not burning up."

Matt frowned and touched the back of his hand to Shiro's neck, ignoring his whine and squirm.  "You're right. That is weird. Well, Coran will look him over and figure it out, then we'll pop him in the pod and be just fine."

Wait, a pod?  Shiro was going in the pod?  He didn't like that much, but at least he could sleep in there.

Their odd procession slowly made their way down the hall.  The speed was half due to Matt and Keith managing Shiro's weight, and half to let him scramble his feet against the floor.  It was probably pity that they allowed him even that pale imitation of contributing.

Pidge opened the door to the med bay, then poked her head inside.  "Coran?"

"Ah, Number Five."  Coran didn't look away from the screen.  His hair stuck up in the back, the telltale sign that he'd showered and left before the drying jets had time to finish the job.  "I was just about to go get Shiro. I hope you're not feeling badly as well?"

"I'm fine.  But you don't have to do that anymore."

Coran froze, then turned around.  He started at the sight of Shiro, slumped between Keith and Matt's arms.  "King Groggery! What happened?"

Gritting his teeth, Keith shook his head.  "We don't know. We found him collapsed on the floor near the rec room."

"Not collapsed," Shiro said, picking up his head to frown.  Why was Keith telling tales like that to Coran? "Just sleeping."

For some reason, that didn't make Coran look less upset.

Matt pointed blandly to Shiro.  "He's delirious, clearly. He's been like this since we found him."

Him too?  Shiro drew himself up, yanking his arm away from Matt.  Was this some kind of prank? He was too tired for this.  "I was," he insisted, trying to sound authoritarian and reliable.  Instead, he sounded sulky.

Grunting, Keith swayed as he suddenly had to take more of Shiro's weight.  "Shiro, stop! We're trying to help you."

"M'fine," Shiro said.  He pulled away from Keith again, and stumbled backward when his balance wasn't up to the task.  His back hit the door frame, drawing a pained grunt out of him. "Tired. Just need sleep."

Coran finally strode forward.  "I'll be the judge of that, I think.  How about you sit down, Number One. Doesn't that sound nice?"

It did, actually.  Shiro eyed Coran, not sure if he was in on this joke.  But he seemed sincere, even concerned, so Shiro allowed himself to be guided to one of the cots.  Once in place, he folded in on himself, feeling like he was half deflated. His hands laid in his lap, and the very tips prickled like there wasn't enough blood flow.

That was weird.  Why did his metal finger need blood?  It didn't. It needed... whatever it worked on.  Magic, probably.

"There we go," Coran said, still nice and cheerful.  "Perfectly done. Look up for me next, alright? We're going to do just a quick little scan, then get you bundled up in bed."

Cheered by both the praise and the promise, Shiro forced his back to straighten as he looked up-

Right into a blindingly bright pen light.

Yesterday, the light had felt like needles.  Now, it was a burning hot electric drill.

Shiro whimpered and ducked his head away, covering his eyes with both hands.  "Stop!" 

Why was he begging?  He knew better than to beg.  No one ever stopped because he asked.  If anything, it got worse. They liked the noises and wanted more.

"Coran!"  Keith was there suddenly, his hand on Shiro's knee and his voice pitched dangerously low.  "What was that?"

Mercifully, the light went away.  Only then did Shiro dare to open his eyes again, peeking warily through his fingers.

Coran looked devastated.  "It was the normal scan! He was just fine when we looked at his eyes yesterday morning.  Uncomfortable, of course, what with your human eyes, but nothing like this." Then he looked over at where Shiro was hunched protectively and sighed.  "I'm very sorry, Shiro. I didn't mean to cause you pain. May I look without the scanner?"

Was it going to hurt again?

But Coran had stopped when Shiro hurt and when Keith yelled at him.  He clearly felt bad. So Shiro did drop his hands, though he stayed tense and wary.  His head continued to throb, pulsing with each heartbeat, and he had to close his throat tight to keep from gagging.

This time, Coran reached out and gently lifted Shiro's chin, looking over his face.  "Ah, those pupils of yours. Quite dilated. No wonder it hurt you. I'm very sorry about that."  Without waiting for a reply, he pressed his fingers along the side of Shiro's throat, and then the back of his hand against Shiro's forehead.  "Not much of a fever at all. Very little immune response either. Nothing swollen."

Shiro blinked up at him, fear draining away when he wasn't hurt again.   "Where'd you learn all that?"

"I have picked up a thing or two from all you humans.  This one is from Ryou, actually."

Uh oh.  Shiro crinkled his nose.  "Don't listen to him. I almost failed first aid."

Matt choked on a laugh.  "You did? Oh, great. That's real comforting.  Good to know that if Dad and I had been hurt on the Kerberos trip, we would have been screwed."

Shoulders slumping again, Shiro bit his bottom lip.  "You  _ were _ hurt."

There was only silence to that.  

Keith's fingers tightened on Shiro's knee, either from shock at the blunt statement or because he felt protective again.

Coran cleared his throat.  "Well, I can’t be sure without the scanner, but I think you'll need just a little trip in the pod.  A handful of dobashes just to get a better idea what's going on in there."

Did he have to?  Shiro didn't like the pod.  It was small and cold and it made him useless.  But he'd finally get to rest, no bed needed.

"Okay," Shiro said, his eyes falling shut again.

Coran said something, but it wasn't in that coaxing tone he'd been using for Shiro.  Pidge said something back, then Matt, but Shiro didn't listen to that either. Instead he swam down into the exhaustion, letting it wash over him like he'd tried in the hall.

The last thing Shiro was aware of was tilting sideways.  Hands grabbed onto his shoulders, slowing his fall, but they couldn't hold him back from sinking down until the world went away.

***

There was someone in Shiro's room.

A shifting noise caught his ear, pulling Shiro out from the comfortable blanket of sleep.  He stilled, breathing still slow and even, as he listened.

Something clinked near his head, and he heard a footstep, then another.  Close, and getting closer.

Shiro's heart pounded in his throat.  He waited for the person to still, then kicked out.

Or, rather, he tried.  But his foot was tangled in something which yanked it short.  Shiro snapped his eyes open, trying to get free, only to wince when his head pounded.  He tried to scramble away from the threat, but his shoulder hit the wall.

"Woah, there!"  A familiar voice - his own voice - said. "Sorry, sorry!  You were supposed to keep sleeping, I wasn't trying to scare you.

Shiro squinted and focused on Ryou standing over his bed.  Both of his hand were up in placation, and his eyes were wide and shaken.

Shit.  Well, it was good that Shiro had been tucked in, since it kept him from actually hurting Ryou.  "What are you doing in my room?" He groaned, dropping his head back down on the pillow.

"You missed breakfast and lunch," Ryou said.  His voice was lower than usual, uncharacteristically gentle.  "You were out of it this morning, apparently, but if you woke up I figured it'd be good for there to be food and water, you know?  So you wouldn't try to get up again."

Shiro turned his head over to look. On the shelving next to his bed was a covered container, made to keep food warm and fresh, and a water packet with the straw already inside.  Then he looked over at Ryou again, who was staring at him, shoulders curled inward. Almost scared.

Why-

Oh.  This morning.  Most of it was a chaotic blur.  He could remember the headache and getting up, and how he'd been so disoriented on the walk back.  At some point, Pidge, Matt, and Keith had been there, and then for some reason they'd been with Coran?  Shiro had no memory of the connective tissue between, only flashes where people weren't there and then they were.

"Pod.  I was in the pod?"  Was he? Shiro remembered talking about it, but he didn't actually go in.

Ryou nodded.  He grabbed the chair from Shiro's desk and pulled it over, then turned it around to sit in it backward.  He rested his chin on the backrest. "Yeah, you were. Gave everyone a hell of a scare, I'll tell you. You were acting really off.  You seem better now, though. How are you feeling?"

No kidding.  Shiro reached up to cover his face with his hand, then sighed.  "Like crap. Thank you for the food, but you should leave before you catch whatever this is."

"Little late for that.  I carried you back to your room."  Ryou gave a bland smile and flexed his arms.  "A little less bulky, these days, but I can still do that much."

What the hell had Ryou been thinking?  "You're going to get sick."

"Honestly, I haven't shown any symptoms at all so far.  I don't know how long it was cooking in you, but if I haven't caught it yet, I'm probably not going to.  Maybe I'm finally developing my own immune system." Ryou smiled flatly. "That would be nice."

The problem wasn't the immune system, though.  Or, it was, but it was a physical issue. Shiro and Ryou caught so many bugs because of the scar that cut through their nasal cavities.

But fine, whatever.  Shiro didn't have the energy to argue.  He pushed himself up on one elbow and considered the food, then shook his head.  Not now. 

"I only started feeling it yesterday,” Shiro said.

"Yeah, speaking of."  Ryou leaned around the back of the chair so he could very gently punch Shiro on the shoulder.  It barely made contact, really more of a tap than a strike. "What the hell were you doing walking around yesterday, anyway?"

"It wasn't that bad."

Ryou snorted.  "It was bad enough I noticed.  Mind, I bought your  _ bullshit _ about it being from nightmares.  I could strangle you, you know that?  I never should have let it go that easily. "

Oh, good.  They were doing this now.  Shiro pressed his face into the pillow, blocking out both Ryou and the light.  He grabbed the edges of the covers and pulled them tighter around himself. His right arm ached from the movement, all the way down to the tips of his fingers.  "Can we delay this argument until I'm better?"

"Mmm... Nah.  Cause you were practically cuddled next to Allura for a couple of hours, sat down for drinks with Hunk and Lance, and flopped all over Pidge, Matt, Keith, and Coran."  The chair screeched against the floor as Ryou scooted closer. The noise made Shiro physically flinch. "Good job getting the whole set instead of, I dunno, sleeping in for once?"

Dammit.  Ryou was right, as awful as it was.  Shiro had the opportunity to infect every single possible paladin.  He could have put them all down at once. May have, in fact. "It felt like a cold.  It wasn't that bad."

"The fact that you're trying to turn into a cocoon right now makes that a lie."

"I went to bed when it got bad.  It wasn't until dinner it was anything worse than a headache."  Shiro poked his head out the top of his blanket and stared up at Ryou.  His head throbbed like it had been cracked against the wall. "Please. Not now."

Ryou sighed and deflated.  "I- yeah. I know. I'm sorry.  Here." He moved to the console on the wall and turned the lights all the way off, including the stripe on the wall.  "You want that back on in case of nightmares?"

Sighing at the sheer relief, Shiro shook his head.  "No. This is perfect. Thank you."

"No problem."  Ryou moved back over and pressed his palm to Shiro's exposed forehead.  "I have no idea what you're supposed to feel like, honestly. But you still aren't burning up or anything."

Considering how much his muscles ached, that was still a surprise.  Even so, Shiro would take it. He nodded and curled up further. "I'm sorry for hurting everyone."

Ryou sighed and closed his eyes.  "You weren't trying to. I'm sorry, I shouldn't get on you right now.  You're sick. I just had time to build up a head full of steam." He ignored the chair to sit on the edge of the bed, making it dip with his weight.  "You scared me, Shiro."

Regret weighed down Shiro's stomach.  "I'm sorry."

The hand on his forehead pushed his bangs back.  "I know." Ryou swallowed hard. He continued to pet Shiro's hair, gaze distant.

Finally, Shiro cleared his throat.  "The pod. What did Coran say?"

"Oh!"  Ryou winced.  "Yeah, shoulda started with that. Um.  Nothing conclusive, weird as that sounds.  The pod basically spat you back out, but you didn't even wake up.  Coran thinks you have a bug the castle doesn't have on file, which makes sense after ten thousand years.  It’s definitely not respiratory, and the pod would catch a parasite or something, so we’re not totally sure.  But Coran thinks the delirium was because you were just so tired."

Shiro dropped the blanket and sat up again, trying to process that.  His arms shook from the effort. "Seriously?"

"That's what he said."  Ryou shrugged. "I mean, it's not out of the picture.  You've been tired enough that you stopped making sense."

...Was Ryou talking about the Garrison, or about his captivity?

That wasn't a question Shiro wanted to deal with right now.  So instead he pressed his lips thin. "I've been sleeping."

"Have you?"

The sheer disbelief stung.   Shiro scowled back and met Ryou's eyes.  "Yes. I slept six hours yesterday night, and I haven't had any all nighters all week."

Ryou frowned, his brow drawing together.  "The pod said you seemed exhausted. Drained."

All Shiro could do was shrug.  

Silence filled the room, as Ryou processed that, and Shiro just didn't have the energy to fill the space.  He slumped back against the wall to keep upright.

Finally, Ryou nodded.  "Okay. Tell me everything.  Absolutely  _ everything _ that's felt off in the past few days.  Even if it wasn't that bad, even if it's happened a million times before."

Okay, right.  "Everything seemed normal until yesterday," Shiro said.  "Genuinely. Literally no symptoms that were outside of the usual.  I didn't even have nightmares. I woke up with sore muscles and a headache.  I was more tired than I usually am, and I woke up to my alarm rather than before it.  Very similar to every time I've had a minor cold over the past year or so."

Ryou frowned, but nodded slowly.  He set his jaw, visibly biting back a comment.  "What about at breakfast?"

"I ate, though I didn't have much of an appetite.  And, honestly, I forgot about feeling sick for a lot of it.  Your arm was a good distraction. The only time it was a problem was when Coran shoved the pen light in my face."

That drew a reluctant smile from Ryou. "Yeah, that thing sucks all the time."  He scooted back and over, so he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Shiro. The heat of him was comforting.  "Then the mission."

Shiro swallowed.  "That was... bad. The whole time I felt pretty awful.  But at that point it was too late to swap out, and it didn't impair me."

"Awful how, exactly?"

Right.  Symptoms.  "I had trouble focusing.  Like trying to listen to two conversations at once.  Everything from that morning, just far worse." He considered, then frowned at his lap.  "I felt way better once the mission was done, too. Black kicked me out and I ran into you, and we watched TV.  By the time I was sitting down, I was feeling like I had that morning."

At the time, Shiro hadn't thought about it at all.  He'd sat down and relaxed, of course he didn't ache as much.  Now he wasn't so sure.

"I was fine through dinner.  It was a struggle to eat what was on my plate, then, and when I tried to walk out after, my stomach- well.  Everything came back up."

Ryou wrinkled his nose.  He pressed their shoulders more firmly together and leaned in, so the sides of their head brushed.  "Eugh. Gross."

A chuckle escaped Shiro.  "Yeah, exactly. Then, after, Hunk found me and I had tea with him and Lance, and went to bed right after.  I slept hard the whole time, no nightmares again, and woke up with a worse headache. The pain had gotten worse, and the longer I was awake and on my feet, the more disoriented I got."  Shiro closed his eyes and leaned in firmly against Ryou, making sure he'd talked about everything. "Oh, and this." He held out his hands to show the shaking.

Ryou's brows jumped up.  He reached out with his own prosthesis, running a finger down Shiro's shaking right arm.  "I've never seen it do this."

"Me either.  My shoulder must be shaking so hard it goes through the metal.  It's even mimicking the tingling sensation in the other arm."

Frowning, Ryou pushed both hands back down into Shiro's lap.  "At least the incoherence is gone. And you're right, you've slept a lot recently.  Which means you were out of it for another reason." He chewed his bottom lip. "How do you feel now?"

"Like when I first woke up this morning, before the delirium set in," Shiro said.  He closed his eyes and gave in, leaning more heavily against Ryou, who took the weight without so much as a grunt.  "I think eating is a bad idea."

"Want more tea?"

"Mmm.  In a bit.  I'm going to sleep again soon.  After." Shiro yawned and burrowed into Ryou's shoulder.  "You're skinnier."

Ryou snorted.  "Yeah, I'm aware.  Thanks for rubbing it in."

"It's not bad.  You're still plenty muscled.  Just not like me. More like..."  He froze, eyes snapping open.

After a couple of seconds of silence, Ryou, rolled his shoulder.  "Did you fall asleep down there?"

"No."  Shiro picked his head up and gestured toward his armor, piled up neatly against the wall.  "Get my gauntlet, then stand in front of the bed and face the wall."

"Wha-"  Ryou blinked, then snorted.  "You know what? Fine, whatever.  Sure." He obeyed with a surprising lack of fuss, probably because Shiro was sick.  Once he handed over the gauntlet, he turned his back to Shiro and spread out his arms.  "Ta-dah."

Shiro pointed the gauntlet at his back.  "Put down your arms and stand up straight."  He waited until Ryou followed the directions, though he huffed about it.  Then Shiro turned on the light.

In the darkness of the room, the flashlight feature of the glove was bright.  Shiro winced, but it was pointed away from him, so it was tolerable. So close to the source, Ryou's shadow was a clean silhouette in the circle of light on the wall.

There was a long pause.

"That definitely is my shadow," Ryou said.  "Glad we had this talk. I don't have any new appendages, thanks for noticing."

Shiro rolled his eyes.  "Not that. Wait a second."  He shoved his pillow under the gauntlet, so it stayed it place and kept pointing at Ryou.  Then Shiro shoved himself to his feet next to him.

Immediately, Ryou whirled on him.  "What are you doing? You're supposed to be resting."

"Shut up and look."  Shiro took hold of Ryou and shoved weakly until he turned forward again.

Side by side, the difference in their sizes was obvious.  Their heights were identical as always, but Ryou was noticeably slimmer.  His shoulders seemed straighter, not bulging so much with muscles. 

"Yeah, I don't look like you anymore."  Ryou gave a flat laugh. "I mean, it's nice, but it's pretty inconvenient.  I'd appreciate it more if the cosmetic difference didn't affect me in the field."

Shiro took a deep breath, then let it out.  He swayed slightly in place, but caught himself.  "I don't think it does. Not really. Because you- Ryou, you look like me.  How I  _ used _ to look.  Back at the Garrison."

Freezing, Ryou stared at the wall, his eyes wide.

He did.  If Shiro had taken that dumb publicity picture they put on posters and cut it out, the shape would look almost exactly like Ryou did.  He was physically fit. Peak condition. The result of training and discipline, ready for the physical demands of space travel.

But Shiro didn't look like that anymore.  He'd bulked up further from his time in the arena.  The needs of survival and pushed his body in new ways.

He'd never lost that.  But now Ryou had.

"Oh," Ryou finally said.  He sat down hard, then tugged on Shiro until he came down as well.  "Huh."

Shiro nodded and grabbed the gauntlet, turning it off again.  It left them in the darkness of the room once more.

What else was there to say?  

Finally, Ryou knocked their shoulders together.  "Well, that's all well and good, but it's a question for another day.  You want to at least try the water before you go back to sleep?"

"Not really."  Shiro slumped over and pulled the covers over him, though Ryou had to lift himself off the blankets first.  "A quick nap. Try to get more settled."

Ryou hesitated, then nodded.  "Yeah, alright. Just a couple of hours, alright?  You shouldn't get dehydrated."

"Fine, fine."  Curling back up under the covers felt absolutely divine.  Shiro pressed his face into the pillow and took a deep breath.  "What are you guys doing?"

"Waiting to see if we get sick, mostly."  Ryou let out a bland chuckle. "And I have paperwork to do."  He sat back down and stayed quiet for a moment. "Um. Would it be too weird if I... hung out for a second?  Just until you're asleep again."

Ryou must have been shaken if he was willing to ask that.  Shiro cracked a smile. "Do the paperwork here if you want.  I don't care. Screens not gunna be enough to wake me."

"Oh.  Yeah. I, uh- just for a bit.  That'd be nice."

Shiro hummed nodded.  "Kay." Whatever he wanted, if it made him feel better.  Shiro was just ready to sleep some more.

Vaguely, he felt the blankets be tucked around him.  It was a nice feeling, and it drew a smile out of him.  Fingers pushed into Shiro’s bangs, pushing them out of his face.

"Feel better, bro."

***

Pain spiked through Shiro's arm.

He snapped his eyes open with a gasp.  His vision swam. The colors ran into each other like the world was made of watercolor.  Each intake of air carried the faint hint of an earthy taste.

The brightest source of color was a backlit screen.  It leached into the rest of the room, like it was casting some kind of an aura along with the light.

"Shiro?"  Ryou's head snapped over, his eyes wide.  "What's wrong? Do you need a something to throw up in?"

Those were questions he should have been able to answer.  But Shiro couldn't. His head was foggy and thick, blotting out the answers before he could answer them.  

He opened his mouth to try, but his muscles stiffened, then jerked.  

Shiro’s head snapped to the side and both his arms curled up against his chest against his will.

Wha-

Then nothing.

Shiro blinked, focusing again.  

Ryou was suddenly right above him, over him on the bed.  He was holding Shiro's shoulders down on the bed, face pale and eyes flat with panic.  "Shiro?  _ Shiro!" _

He  _ ached. _  Worse than all the times before, Shiro's muscles burned as if he'd just been in a fight.  He was breathing hard, and he didn't remember why.

"Ry-"  The name came out thick and slurred, like his tongue had forgotten how to work.  

Above him, Ryou's face tightened, like he was holding back a swell of emotion.  "Shiro? Do you know where you are? Are you hurt?"

He-

He should know.  This place should be familiar.  He just couldn't recognize it. 

Shiro hurt.

"Shit."  Ryou climbed off of him, then slid his arms under Shiro.  "I really, really hope nothing is broken. I'm sorry in advance for this."  Then he heaved Shiro up in his arms.

The world swam again. Shiro whined and held on as best he could, but his arms didn't want to work.  The right one stayed limp at his side, still shaking.

When Shiro didn't scream or cry out, Ryou set off down the hallway, still holding onto Shiro as best he could.  Once they were out, Ryou's eyes widened. "Lance.  _ Lance! _  Get Coran."

"Wha-"  Lance's voice echoed from further down the hallway.  "What's wrong with Shiro?"

"He had a seizure.  Go!"

A seizure?

Shiro didn't get seizures.  Right?

What was wrong with him?

The fog continued to collect around his brain.  Shiro leaned against Ryou, eyes falling closed, as he concentrated just on breathing.  He vaguely heard talking, exclamations, questions. Very little of it penetrated the cloud that Shiro found himself in.

Until the glass closed around him.

Shiro startled, eyes wide.  He saw his team on the other side of the glass, huddled around, expressions tight with worry.

He opened his mouth to reassure them.

Then, cold.

Darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

Shiro fell.

His eyes didn't even open as he slumped forward, gravity suddenly asserting itself and dragging him down.  There was no time to react, no time to think about catching himself. His muscles were too heavy, too sluggish, and all he could do was list forward.

Before he could go far, his chest hit something solid and warm.  Arms came around him, steady and warm, the fingers digging into the back of Shiro's shirt.  

Instinctively, Shiro tried to grab onto whatever he'd landed on.  His left arm came up, fingers scraping along the fabric. His right arm twitched, the fingers tingling and shaking, and otherwise didn't react.

That should have scared Shiro.  But all he could do was notice the problem and find it curious.

"Woah, there," the person under Shiro said.  His own voice. Ryou, then. "Warn a guy. You nearly went tumbling down, you know that?  I totally had to pull a Lance there, and you're heavier than Allura."

The tone was wrong.  Playful, but edged. Too high pitched.  Ryou sounded scared. That wasn't good. What was so bad that it scared Ryou?

"Coran?" Hunk asked, voice small and distant.  "Why is he out of the pod? He's not better."

There was a long pause.  "I'm not quite sure," Coran admitted.  His voice was grim, in a way that Shiro very rarely heard outside of battle.  "There's still no sign of any illness that the castle can detect, and it seems what damage was done was healed up.  The pod is still only healing the symptoms."

Shiro tried to push himself up off of Ryou, but his left arm shook violently, and his right arm still wouldn't listen to him.  He just went back down again, jamming his nose into Ryou's collar bone.

"You should probably get him to a cot," Pidge said tightly.  She sounded much closer than Hunk, like she was hovering nearby.  "Before he accidentally squirms out of your grip and really does fall down."

"Yeah, good idea.  Hold on, Shiro." With that, Ryou shifted his arms around Shiro, then suddenly heaved him up in his arms.

Yelping, Shiro kicked and lashed out instinctively.  His elbow connected with a shoulder, and his foot brushed against someone's armor.  "No! No, put me down!"

"Shiro!"  Keith's protest stilled Shiro immediately.  "It's okay. It's just for a bit, and it's only Ryou.  No one is going to hurt you."

Ryou grunted.  "But I might drop you if you elbow me like that again.  Fucking  _ ow.” _  Despite his words, Ryou carried Shiro across the room.  He was placed down on something soft and raised. Ryou slid in behind him, sitting up against the top and encouraging Shiro to lean back against his chest.

Like this, Shiro could see the whole room for the first time.  The entire team was in the med bay, each of them looking worried and strained.  The lights had been turned down to their bare minimum, so most of the light came from Coran's projected screen.

"Hello, Shiro," Allura greeted gently.  She came closer and rested a hand on his arm.  Her touch was gentle, as if more than the barest touch would bruise him.  "Do you remember what happened?"

Had there been a fight?  Shiro certainly felt like it.  His body ached with by now familiar muscle strain.  His head throbbed, mostly in reaction to the light, and the pain of it churned his stomach.  His right arm remained dead weight on his side, useless to him.

Shiro had been sick.  Right. He'd taken the morning off, and freaked out the Holts and Keith.  Then he'd slept, and Ryou had been there, and-

Something had been weird.  The world had gone strange, then he'd lost time again.  This time, it hadn't been from a flashback. It had been from a seizure.

Shiro opened his mouth, but all that came out was a dry croak.  Wincing, he swallowed hard, then nodded. "Yeah."

Lance dug through his bag, then produced a water packet and a straw.  He stuck it through, then hesitated. "Do you think you can hold it, Shiro?"

The question alone made Shiro bristle.  "Yes."

Hesitating, Lance looked him over.  Then he held out the packet, brows raised as he waited for Shiro it take it.

The right arm twitched again, managing to make it an inch off the bed.  The result made the strange tingle worse, like something was cutting off the blood flow.  Which made no sense. It was metal, it didn't need any blood.

Instead, Shiro took it in his left hand.  It tingled at the tip as well, and the packet felt incredibly heavy.  But he was able to bring it to his mouth and suck, eyes flashing with triumph.  He was perfectly capable of caring for himself. He didn't need them all fussing over him.

Frowning, Hunk narrowed his eyes at Shiro.  Then he turned to Coran. "Did the pod say anything about his arm?"

Shiro tenseded, set on edge by how Hunk was going over his head.  

But before he could stop drinking to respond, Coran hummed.  "Not in particular from the overall scan, I'm afraid. But since the pod can't find much at all that's wrong with Number One, I don't think it's a good indicator.  Which arm?"

"The right one.  He can't lift it."

Keith frowned and narrowed his eyes.  "Shiro?"

Looking away, Shiro set his jaw.  Frustration boiled up in him, until he had to clench his jaw to keep his expression neutral.  

He didn't want this.  He wanted to go to bed and sleep this off.  Having everyone here to gawk and notice and judge didn't make him feel better.  It made him want to wrap himself up in a blanket until they left him alone. None of them should see him like this.  It was bad. They needed to trust him, and he needed to be strong. 

No one should see his weaknesses.

That only lead to pain.

But the whole room was waiting, now.  

"Shiro?" Allura asked, even softer now.  "Please, we need to know what's wrong to help you."

Sighing, Shiro closed his eyes.  He finally shook his head, and tried to lift it again.  The fingers twitched, and this time he didn't even bother to force it off the bed.  "It's asleep."

Pidge stepped forward and reached out to touch it.  But when she got close, Shiro made a wounded noise and jerked his shoulder away.  He wrapped his other arm over it, protecting the weak spot from possible attack.

Pulling away, Pidge blinked rapidly and stepped back, so she was next to Matt again.  "Sorry! I didn't- I wasn't trying to hurt you. It shouldn't feel asleep. It's metal."

Well, it did.  Shiro shrugged and leaned back against Ryou, who grunted from the extra weight.

Glancing back, Shiro frowned at the difference between them.  He really was a solid inch and change broader than Ryou right now, mostly from the extra curve of his shoulders and neck.  "M'bigger."

"Yeah, we talked about that," Ryou said, patting his arm.  "Right before you fell asleep."

"I look swollen," Shiro continued, as if Ryou hadn't said anything.  "Inflated. Like they filled me up too much. I don't like it."

Lance's eyes flashed thoughtfully, and his lips pressed thin.  "Inflated like that Galra from Beta Traz?"

Rather than answer, Shiro let his head flop back onto Ryou's shoulder.  He could barely keep track of the present. There was so much light and sound and noise and sensation, all of it pressing together into his brain.  Asking him to remember details and names on top of that was too much.

"The warden?"  Ryou replied carefully.  "The difference is between me and Shiro.  It's not that much."

Waving his hands wildly, Lance nodded.  "Yes, him! Maybe not as much. Maybe it was a little dose.  But maybe Haggar was giving it to him and that's why he's bigger."

"He's been bigger since we were captured, though," Matt pointed out, arms crossed.  "If Haggar was dosing him with quintessence - and some Galra soldiers do that, it's true - then it would have worn off by now.  It lasts weeks at best, not years.

Slumping, Lance sighed.  "Oh. Yeah, that makes sense."

"Ryou got smaller too," Hunk said.  "If it lasted that long, he should still look like Shiro does, not be losing muscle mass."

Ryou's groan vibrated through Shiro's chest.  The sensation made him shiver in return. "It doesn't _ matter _ right now," Ryou snapped.  His arms tightened around Shiro protectively.  "Can we focus, please? We can care about that later.  Shiro comes first."

But Pidge stepped forward, her eyes wide.  "Actually, I think Lance is onto something."

"I am?"

Pidge tapped her fingers on the cot.  "Yes, you are. Ryou's been getting smaller, but slowly.  So much so we didn't notice until he was so unbalanced he was walking into doors.  Which means it's probably been happening over the past few months. And- I'm sorry for this, Ryou, but you haven't been fighting as well, right?"

There was a long pause, then Ryou sighed.  "Yeah. I mean, I do fine, but I can't keep up with Shiro anymore.  I can win once in a while, but it's not even anymore. Not like I was."

"Right.  We assumed it was the arm and the quintessence.  You don't have the same energy Shiro does, so it was as good a reason as any.  But what if that isn't it?" Pidge looked between Ryou and Shiro, a triumphant light in her eyes. "What's different?  What's been different from almost the start?"

"The arm."  Coran stepped forward as well.  

Hunk covered his mouth with his hand.  "And the arm isn't working, too. Maybe it's malfunctioning?"

Shiro furrowed his brow, looking over the whole group.  The conversation washed over him without really sticking.  He was just waiting for them to come to the brilliant conclusion, and then he could go back to sleep and he'd wake up back to normal.

"Wait, wait."  Keith crossed his arms and frowned at the group.  "So, what, the arm has been injecting quintessence steroids into Shiro this whole time?  Wouldn't we have noticed that?"

"No, we wouldn't," Pidge said, tone darkening.  "Because we don't really know how Shiro's arm  _ works. _  We have a basic idea of the pieces, but it has a power source.  We know that's what it is, but we've never really had a clear idea of how it works.  There's so much magic and alchemy and advanced technology rolled in up there together, and it was never a priority.  In Shiro's arm there's a container of what's essentially liquid quintessence."

The room went quiet as they considered that.

Shiro blinked at the ceiling, then closed his eyes.  "Had it the whole time. It's been fine," he slurred.

"He's right," Matt said, nodding to Shiro.  "If the arm is doing something weird, then we'll deal with that later.  It doesn't do us any good if Shiro is too sick. Or worse."

The arms around Shiro tightened.  He started to whine, then bit off the noise, as if that could keep anyone else from hearing it.  Ryou loosened his grip and muttered an apology into Shiro's left shoulder.

Pidge shook her head, hard enough that it nearly knocked off her glasses.  "It is important! The pod can't find anything wrong with Shiro, so it can't be that anything big has changed with him.  But what happens if that power source gets damaged?"

There was a heavy silence.  Shiro tensed. They seemed so hurt.  Could he do something about it? He wanted to tell them he was fine, that he'd be okay if he just slept, even if it wasn't true.  They didn't like it when he did that, but how else was he supposed to make them feel better?

"We could look inside his arm and see," Hunk finally offered.  "I mean, what else are we going to do, anyway? We can sit around and talk all we want, but Shiro keeps getting worse."

Allura stepped forward.  "I can take a closer look at the quintessence.  With my magic, I might be able to get a better sense of what it does and if it's a problem."

"Worth a shot," Ryou offered.  "Shiro? Are you following this?  We're going to be messing with your arm a little bit, but it's nice and safe.  You got it?'

Shiro lolled his head back and nodded.  The words registered, then immediately slipped away from his mind.  Between the bright lights and the tense room, he just wasn't able to keep up with the conversation.  But saying that would worry them more. "M'okay."

This time, it must have been the right thing.  Shiro felt his arm get picked up and pulled to the side.  He flinched at the hands travelling up the side, but he recognized them.  Broad and warm, those weren't Haggar's hands. They were Hunk's.

Closing his eyes, Shiro focused on his breathing.  The tingle in his arm continued to get worse, how a full-fledged vibration, just shy of painful.  It shot up his arm and made his shoulder tense and ache more. 

"Okay, one second.  There's not a lot of room in here, so it's hard to get to stuff."  Hunk grunted quietly. "Pidge, a hand?"

There was  _ shifting _ inside of Shiro.  The senses inside were far duller than the ones on the surface.  Neither was precisely like his natural hand. There was just no one-to-one correlation for the feeling of tubes and wires being pulled out of the way.  Then someone else was touched, and a pulse ran through Shiro. He swallowed a gasp, tensing harder.

If he showed weakness, it would be used against him-

No, it would hurt them.  It would scare them-

Scaring them was necessary, it kept them away, it kept them safe-

Shiro couldn't hurt them, he would protect them.  Even from fear, even from him-

It was necessary.  To survive he'd do what he had to-

No, no, not-

The pulse jerked through him again, and this time Shiro grunted from the feeling.

"Sorry," Pidge said, distant and distracted.  "That's it." Another pulse, harder this time.  "Does it seem emptier to you?"

Shiro finally cracked open his eyes again, watching hazily.  The entire room was clustered around his arm as best they could, trying to peer in.  Pidge and Hunk were the closest, flanking either side of his forearm, with Allura at his fingertips.

Shrugging, Hunk shook his head. "We haven't looked recently, and I don't remember exactly what it was at before.  I don't remember it being below a quarter, but I can't say for certain."

"Can you compare against mine?"  Ryou asked. He shifted Shiro, pulling him flush against his chest to hold him better, while offering his own right arm.

But Pidge shook her head and gently pushed it back.  "No, we didn't use the quintessence for yours. We didn't trust that the energy source wasn't part of Haggar's plan, and we have no idea how she made the liquid version.  Yours runs on a Balmera crystal."

"Oh."  Ryou dropped his arm, then curled it back around Shiro. He splayed the fingers out over Shiro's chest, which had to let him feel how fast Shiro's heartbeat was.  If he noticed, he didn't comment. 

Allura leaned forward and hesitated, then pushed her fingers side beside Pidge's.  This time, when Shiro felt the pulse, he assumed it was from someone touching the power source.  "I can feel the energy off of it. It feels... well, it doesn't feel like my quintessence. Or the castle.  It feels... heavier. Slower. Changed."

Hissing out his breath through his teeth, Coran crossed his arms.  “If poisoned quintessence is responsible for how sick he is, then no wonder the pod couldn’t detect it.  It’s not made to track that kind of energy. It would only see the damage the quintessence caused. We’ll have to fix that in the future.”

Sitting down on the side of the bed, Keith crossed his arms. "But if Haggar could make the quintessence in Shiro's arm go bad, why do it now?  Why not do it when we were fighting Zarkon, or when we were rescuing Allura?"

"I don't think this was activated," Allura said.  "This doesn't feel deliberate. It feels..." She pulled back and frowned, eyes closed.  Her fingers curled in the air, like she was trying to hold onto the word she wanted. "Declined.  Sicky, even."

Eyes wide, Coran swallowed.  "Rotted?"

"Yes!"  Allura snapped her head around to Coran.  "Can energy do that?"

"A power source left unmaintained will decline," Coran said.  "I didn't know that pure quintessence could. What use is a machine that stops working after a couple of years?"

"Plenty of use," Ryou said, voice very soft and quiet.  "Especially if you think you'll have it nearby to replace the batteries every couple of years as needed."

Sweat prickled over Shiro's brow as his breathing picked up.  They were talking about him. He was the machine that needed batteries.  His arm was open, hands were on him. He was bound, thick bands around his chest, but his arm was free.  He could-

The arm sputtered, just enough warning for the prying fingers to yank away.  Then it lit.

Shiro's veins turned to sludge.

Crying out, he tried to pull his arm back, but it wouldn't respond.  Instead he could only arch and cry out. His muscles tensed and jerked.  Instinctively, he lashed out, trying to kick away what he couldn't punch, but he made contact with nothing. 

"Shiro!"

The familiar voice stopped him.  Shiro froze, panting, covered in a layer of sweat and shaking from the pain.  "Keith?" There were other voices, calling and talking, but they faded into white noise.  This one he knew, though. This one he'd known for so long, and he trusted.

"Everyone out," Keith said, steel in his voice.  "Now."

"But Keith-"

"No, out!  I doubt he caught even half of that entire conversation.  Go. Let me talk to him."

A pause, and then murmurs.  Footsteps started to walk away.

"What about me?" Said another voice, this one right next to Shiro's ear.  He startled before he realized he knew that one too. His own? Why was his own voice behind him?

No, that made sense.  There was a reason. Shiro knew that was normal, he just couldn't follow why.

Shiro settled back down, eyes closed, and struggled to breathe evenly.

"I think you're okay," Keith said.  "He's calming down. Just let me talk."

Sluggishly, Shiro picked his head up and blinked.  His sweat-slick bangs fell into his face, crossing in front of his eyes and blocking half of Keith from his view.  But one arm wouldn't work, and the other ached too much to bother moving it. "She gone?" He asked. His lips and tongue rasped together in his too-dry mouth.

Keith's brow furrowed, and then he flinched.  "Haggar wasn't-" Then he sighed. "Yeah, you're safe now, okay?  But, Shiro, we need to talk. I need you to focus."

Right.  Okay. Focusing.  Shiro straightened up, though he leaned more heavily against the warm presence behind him.  "I'm listening."

"A part of your arm is broken," Keith said, enunciating each word very clearly.  "It's making you sick. We don't have anything to replace it, so we have to take the arm off.  Are you going to be okay with that?"

The arm was going to go away?

Relief crashed over Shiro.  He didn't like the arm. He'd never wanted it, and the process of earning it and having it installed had been painful and terrifying.  It was cold and uncomfortable to sleep in, and he couldn't forget that he had an active weapon strapped to him at all times. Shiro had learned to control it well, but if he ever got too distracted, he could seriously hurt someone.

But if he didn't have it, someone else could hurt the people he cared about.  He'd used that same arm to fight off anyone that wanted to hurt his team, or to defend the helpless and downtrodden.  If he only had one arm, what could he do? Could he fly with only one arm? Could he fight? 

There was only one answer.  "No."

Keith stilled, his fingers gripping Shiro's sheets.  "No? You're not okay with that?"

"Can't."  Shiro turned his shoulder, trying to bring his arm into his lap to cradle, but he couldn't move it.  "Need it. Can't fight without it. Don't want to be useless."

There was a wheeze behind him.  "Thanks, bro. Really appreciate that."

Shiro tilted his head back, trying to see who was talking.  But the angle made his head spin, nearly enough to make his stomach revolt.  He gave up and instead vaguely nuzzled his head into the shoulder.

Scooting closer, Keith moved so his face was almost directly in front of Shiro's.  He couldn't look away like this. "You're not useless if you don't fight. You never have to fight again."

Panic clawed back up in Shiro.  He tried to shove away from Keith, but he only pressed into the chest behind him.  "No. I don't want that. I have to be able to fight. If I can't-"

If he couldn't, if he was finally broken, then he would die.  If he wasn't useful anymore, there was no reason to preserve him.

If he couldn't fight, then Shiro would fall knowing he'd let down everyone who depended on him.

"You'll get a different arm," said the voice behind him.  "You can still fight with it. I do."

It wasn't worth the risk.   Shiro shook his head.

Keith sighed and scrubbed over his face.  "Then you'll use the Black Bayard. You can have it full time.  I have the Marmora blade, and I prefer that in combat anyway." His hand fell, and he looked over Shiro's face.  "You know you're not only good for fighting, right? There's so much more you do for us."

Maybe, but all that was in service of keeping his team happy and safe.  To fail in one aspect would be to fail in everything. It didn't matter what else he brought to the table if he couldn't keep them alive, or if he was killed.

One of the arms around Shiro's chest loosened, then brushed his bangs out of his face.  "The rest of us aren't slouches, you know," his own voice said. "I've done this all, Shiro.  It's okay. You can still defend them. And even if you can't, they're stronger now. We all are."  He hesitated, then petted Shiro's hair back. "This time, you're not defending us. We're defending you.  You gave them the space and time to learn, and now they can fight too. Trust us to keep you safe. It's our turn.  You get to rest, now."

It wasn't supposed to be turns.  It was supposed to be Shiro defending them all.  That was his job. That was more important than anything, even the Black Lion, even the universe. Shiro's job had been to get the cadets home.  They'd do what they needed to in the meantime, but Shiro was not going to look their parents' in the face and tell them how their child was lost.

But part of that was teaching them to fend for themselves.  Giving them the training and tools that they could fight for themselves.

If they could do that, maybe they could defend Shiro in turn.

Slowly, Shiro settled back down.  His brief argument had sapped what little strength he had, leaving him practically a rag doll against the presence behind him.  "Will it hurt?"

There was a soft, pained noise behind him.  "No, Shiro. Not this time. You fall asleep and wake up and it's all over.  It'll take us a couple of days to make you a new arm, but it won't hurt at all.  I promise you. I  _ promise." _

Shiro hesitated, then bobbed his head.  His eyes locked onto to Keith, and his fingers twitched out toward him.  "You'll be there?"

"We all will," Keith said, utterly steady and certain.  He rested his hand over Shiro's, closing firmly over the fingers.  "Every second."

Finally, tremulously, Shiro nodded.

Keith smiled, shaky but bright.  "Thank you."

The hand carded through Shiro's hair again.  "Sleep, Shiro. When you wake up, it'll already be done."

Sleep lurked over Shiro's head, like a blanket about to fall and cover him.  Between his aches and shakes and exhaustion, he's given everything he has.

He just had to trust that it was enough.

Or, rather, he had to trust that the others could pick up the slack.

Shiro thought of his original relief, how glad he was to think the arm would go away.  He tried to find that again, but he couldn't quite manage to reach that pure emotion again.  He got close, scraping his fingertips against the knowledge that his life will be more comfortable, more convenient.

It wasn't the same, but it was enough for now.

Shiro closed his eyes and let himself fall back.

Let himself trust.

***

The new port glowed.

In Pidge’s lap, the new, floating arm twitched.  The fingers curled in slowly, then released. Each movement sent strange sparks up Shiro’s shoulder, settling at the base of his neck.  The closest sensation he could compare it to was a continuous static shock, mixed with the beginnings of tendonitis. 

“How’s it feel?” Hunk asked.  He prodded at once of the twitching fingers, which Shiro could feel as if through a glove.  “Hurt still?”

Shiro opened his mouth, but Ryou shifted next to him on the cot, elbowing without being obvious.  Even so, Shiro shot him a glare. “Not nearly as bad as when I woke up,” he said pointedly. “There’s still a strange sensation that’s not exactly pleasant.”

Pidge growled and pointed her screwdriver threateningly at the arm.  “We’re getting it. We  _ will _ get it.  The energy match is nearly there.”

“At least you’re not screaming anymore,” Ryou offered, his tone far too chipper.  “Must be a nice break for your voice.”

“It’s practically a vacation.”

Hunk rolled his eyes at them both.  “We’ll keep working on it, Shiro. Just another day, tops.”

It was about what Shiro had expected, so he sighed.  He was still on another few days of prescribed bed rest anyway.  Despite the times he’d spent in the pod, his ‘fragile human organs’ apparently still needed the chance to heal.

The symptoms of Quintessence Poisoning, apparently.  Of which Shiro was the only known victim.

“Don’t feel like you need to rush,” Shiro said.  He twitched the fingers again, wincing as the strange energy coursed through him again.  “This is enough to at least start getting used the sensation. I’ll have to relearn how to fight with this one.”

Hunk’s gaze snapped up onto Shiro’s face.  “Better than dying, though.”

Shiro hummed his polite disagreement.

Snorting, Ryou elbowed him again, much more friendly this time.  “That’s also practically a vacation.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re equally awful,” Pidge pronounced.  Then she jabbed a finger at Ryou without so much as looking up.  “Yadda yadda clone joke blah. Save it.”

Ryou stuck out his bottom lip.

Picking her head up, Pidge met Shiro’s gaze.  “It’ll take some adjustments, yes. But there’s all kinds of utility in a fight or field situation that an untethered limb can offer.  We’ll have to train how far it can go from you, since it won’t be natural, but you might be able to get a couple hundred feet away. Which is plenty of distance to search for, say, the key to a theoretical jail cell.”

“Or a limb that can’t be pinned with you,” Ryou added, his brows jumping up thoughtfully.  “Dammit, that’s going to be annoying to deal with. Can we turn it off for training?”

“No,” Shiro said.  But he didn’t look away from where Pidge held his gaze.  Despite the fact that she was over a foot shorter than him, easily half his weight, and was several years and ranks his junior, he still wanted to squirm.  “Message received.”

Pidge saluted him with his own new arm.  Shiro’s lips twitched.

Glancing between them, Hunk sat down on the foot of the bed.  “It’ll be an adjustment. But Ryou’s slimming took a long time, too, so it won’t be something you have to get used to all at once.  And we’ll know about it ahead of time, so we’ll be able to adjust your prosthesis accordingly.”

Ryou held up his own new prosthetic arm, admiring the now sleeker design.  “For once, I got to be your guinea pig. That’s fun and new.”

Shiro rolled his eyes because it was what Ryou wanted from him.  But really, he wanted to hold his pillow between himself and his brother.  The constant attempts to cheer him and bulldoze past Shiro’s anxiety was sweet but not comforting.

The simple fact of the matter was that Shiro was going to be weaker.  Maybe not tomorrow, aside from his health. Maybe not next week. But over the next several months, he would lose a lot of the strength and power that had helped him keep his team alive.

Yes, it was better to be weakened than to be dead.  Shiro could do much more for the team and the universe now than he could 6 feet under (or whatever Alteans did with dead bodies).  But that didn’t do anything to cool the frustration that sat like a constant, hot coal in his stomach. 

It wasn’t fair.  Shiro had come to grips with his old arm.  He’d turned it into a weapon for his own purposes, not Haggar’s or Zarkon’s or whoever’s.  He’d found a purpose in it, created a place that he could fill because of the skills they’d forced him to gain.  Shiro had made it his.

And now it was gone.  Now he could never get it back, due to a fluke (or planned obsolescence).

Now, Shiro was weaker.

When he didn’t respond, Ryou sighed.  “Look, Shiro-”

“It’s fine.”

“Lie.”

Shiro startled and stared at Hunk.  “What?”

Hunk smiled blandly in return.  “I mean, I don’t have to have Lance’s new Shirogane Lie Detector to figure that one out.  Of course you’re not okay. A lot of stuff changed for you all of a sudden, and we had to mess with your body without you wanting us to.  You agreed, but only because the alternative was to just die.”

It was logical, but Shiro still looked down at his lap and let his bangs fall over his eyes.  “Well, I suppose I’m not fine at the moment, since I am still sick. But I will be once I adjust again.”

Hunk looked him over, then sighed.  “I’m just saying, as one guy with anxiety to another?  You’re allowed to be mad about it. We won’t be insulted.”

Despite years of dealing with his PTSD, Shiro still wasn’t used to hearing to it be so openly referred to, or compared to Hunk’s own anxiety.  He considered Hunk, then inclined his head. “If you’re expecting me to have a rage fit, I think you’ll be disappointed. Unless you invited Slav over.”

“Oh, didn’t we tell you,” Ryou drawled.  “He designed your new arm.”

Shiro just shot him a flat look.

Ryou smiled, but it crumpled almost immediately.  “What I was saying before you interrupted me was that you don’t need the arm the way you used to.  Like, at the beginning of all this Voltron stuff, you were the only one on the team that could even open the doors without hacking them.  And you had by far the most hand-to-hand or combat experience. So, yeah, the arm came in handy a lot.”

Turning to face him, Shiro swallowed hard.  Did Ryou really need to be reminding him of the utility he’d lost?

“Don’t- Hey.  What I’m saying is that things have  _ changed, _ that’s all.  Everyone can pick up more than they used to.  There’s literally two of you!” Ryou gestured to himself.  “Yeah, there’s a little loss of strength. But between me, you, Keith, and Hunk?  Do we need more raw physical strength?”

It wasn’t the  _ same. _  The difference was that Shiro could take out opponents quickly and easily, not that he could bench press a certain amount.

But if he even suggested that, he knew Ryou would just say that Lance could shoot an enemy down even more quickly and easily.  And Ryou would be right.

The team didn’t need Shiro in the way it had, once.

But he still wanted to  _ feel _ like the person he’d been, then.  A leader they could look up to. A protector to keep them safe.  The Black Paladin, an example to believe in, even when Shiro didn’t believe in himself.

The truth was so much more messy.

“Can I clarify something?” Pidge asked, drawing Shiro’s attention back to her.  She set the arm down on the side of his bed, though her fingers continued to tap thoughtfully on the casing.  “It’s only fights you’re worried about, right?”

Shiro blinked slowly, not sure what her point was.  “Well, primarily. There’s other utility the arm offered, like it’s ability to cut.”

In response, Ryou flatted his own hand, though he didn’t activate it.  The implication was still clear - he could do all the cutting they might need.

Pidge was right, though.  Shiro didn’t worry about not being able to slice through a Galra hull.  It was combat he was worried about. Fighting someone who he could win against before but who could hurt his team or kill him now.

Although Shiro hadn’t said more, Pidge nodded.  “Is there a particular fight you’re worried about?”

“No, not exactly.  I mean, Haggar’s druids, I suppose, and whatever Lotor would have planned.  But I don’t know what’s coming, so my worry is more general than that.”

Pidge’s eyes flashed with something too dark and sad to be triumph.  “You’re worried you’re going to be dragged into an unknown life-or-death fight at any time, so you have to be constantly ready with the tools you have.”

Was that not the situation they lived in?

Then Shiro froze.

She meant-

This wasn’t about being on call as Paladins.  Pidge was talking about his captivity.

That- no.  That was absurd.  Shiro wasn’t thinking about that.  It was just  _ reasonable _ in their situation to be on his guard.  There were in fights constantly and he never knew when, so he had to be constantly prepared, and-

That was exactly what Pidge had just said.

Shiro swallowed hard.  “Oh.”

His fears were well founded.  There was a  _ reason _ Shiro couldn’t afford to be caught off balance.  Lives were on the line. The universe was on the line.  That couldn’t all be a symptom.

Looking over to Ryou, Shiro stared, hoping for backup.

Instead, Ryou just looked sympathetic.

_ Shit. _

“I see.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” Pidge added, her shoulders falling.  She climbed up on the bed too, on Shiro’s opposite side from Ryou. “I’m just pointing out that the reason you’re so scared might not be for purely logical reasons.”

Hunk bit his bottom lip, his shoulders hunched in what looked like empathetic pain.  “If you feel like you always need to fight, maybe a vacation would help? An actual one.  You would be totally off duty.”

Ice formed in Shiro’s stomach.  “No.”

“Are you sure?  Then you would know you wouldn’t have to-”

_ “No.” _

Ryou pressed in closer.  “Yeah, I don’t think that’d help much.  Good thought, Hunk, but Shiro isn’t made to take breaks.  He’d start climbing walls.” He smoothed a distracted hand up and down Shiro’s back.  “Though you’re not going to have much choice for the next couple of weeks.”

Shiro glared back.  “Thank you, brother dear.”

For a moment, the return of Ryou’s favorite sarcastic address made him grin.  But it quickly faded again. “That’s just true. Sorry. It’ll even be different from before, when you wouldn’t take back the Black Lion, because then you could have gone out there if need be.  So this’ll suck, sorry, but maybe it’ll be good. I’ll even sit out with you.”

Pausing, Shiro straightened.  “Ryou, you don’t need to do that.  I’ll manage.”

“You might, but this is kinda for me too.”  Ryou looked away from them all, his leg bouncing off the side of the bed.  “It’s not like that symptom isn’t familiar for me too.”

Oh.  Yes, it made sense that Ryou would carry over that particular PTSD symptom.  Especially since he remembered more details of the Arena.

Besides, some company in his suffering might be nice.

“I’d appreciate that,” Shiro said softly.  “And you’re right. I trust the team to be okay without us for that long.”  He faced Pidge and Hunk again, who were watching him with far more understanding that he enjoyed.  But they were empathetic, not pitying.

They emphasized because they understood hard choices.  They knew how combat could change a person. Because they’d survived horrors too, if not the same as Shiro’s.

Ryou was right.  They’d all grown.  Shiro could trust them to hold their own in a way he couldn’t at the beginning.  

It was just hard to give up that image he thought they had of him, which was part of the reason he’d waited so long to get help for his ‘cold.’

Shiro was wary of the Galra for a reason.  He knew better than nearly anyone how they didn’t fight fair.  They hit hard, and anyone standing up to them needed to be able to hit back just as powerfully.

But they did.  This team cheated too, because they had the two most powerful forces in the universe.  Voltron, and each other.

“We’ll be okay,” Hunk agreed, steady and sure.  “Speaking of everyone, we’re pretty much done with the arm stuff for today.  Want everyone else?”

Shiro nodded.  “Yeah, go ahead and send them in.”

“I got ‘em.”  Ryou popped up and stretched his arms behind his back until his spine cracked.  “Give me two shakes of a Yelmore’s tail, however long that’s supposed to be.”

As Ryou walked away, Shiro leaned back against the head of the cot, taking in the shape of him.

Ryou wasn’t as bulky as he had been, true.  But he didn’t seem worse off for it, aside from a brief period of unbalance.  If anything, he seemed happier, despite being a copy. Maybe he’d faked it until he made it, like he was so fond of saying, but Ryou looked like he was more comfortable in his own skin.

Shiro wanted to feel that way too.

Maybe this was step one.


End file.
